Black and White Reminiscence
by Blueninjamanga22
Summary: 'White hair,' I wrote by a bullet in my small notebook. 'Red eyes,' I wrote by another. 'Albino. Owns a pet chick. Constantly happy. Seems idiotic. Unhealthy obsession for beer.' I wrote sloppily, and slammed the pen on my notebook as I began to massage my temples. "Who is this guy?" PruAus, T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**_ This is different from the happy-go-lucky comedies that I usually write, so I'm kind of an amateur at this. There will be some angst in this story, but if it isn't that great, I'm new to this. _**

**_ I don't own Hetalia. _**

**_~ * ~ * Chapter One ~ * ~ *_**

I started working for Roderich when I was seven, and that was because my mother had pressured me on getting a job. I didn't really know how I felt about working for a country, but I had pictured a man made of stone with tattoos of all his major cities and lakes, with a birthmark in the shape of a star to represent his capital.

Not to mention I'd heard more than enough rumors about countries to both awe and scare me about working for a country. My neighbor had told me that when countries cry, it rains. My mailman had told me that they don't bleed.

"They aren't human, you see," he'd said while putting a letter or two in our mailbox (one letter being my acceptance as a personal assistant to this Republic of Austria.) "So they don't bleed out blood like we do"

"Then what comes out when they get cut?" I questioned.

The mailman thought for a moment. "Dirt. They're the land in a person, so they bleed out dirt"

This was a lie, I knew that by the paper cuts Roderich got while turning the pages of his sheet music. And Roderich never cried, so the land would be barren and a pure desert if his tears were raindrops.

It did surprise me, though, to discover that Roderich didn't have a birthmark shaped like a star or tattoos of his major cities. It surprised me that he even breathed. He looked like a man, though not quite like anyone on the streets. I've found that the looks of any country are handsome or beautiful enough to take anyone's breath away, whether you are male or female. No matter your taste or preference, you always find yourself admitting that they are at least a little bit attractive.

As I grew and changed into a young man, Roderich didn't change. As I began to know him as "Roderich" rather than "Mr. Austria", the man in question still didn't change. As my legs grew taller and my mind wiser, Roderich still didn't change. He was immortal, a single rumor that proved to be true; a man who stayed young and handsome forever.

The life of a country seemed easy and inviting to me for a while. The life of a country was a life of little to no responsibility, to sit and look pretty and laugh along with your beautiful friends. It was a life of wealth and beauty without worry about death or old age. That thought quickly diminished after working for Roderich for a week or two.

I watched as people shoved him around and blamed him for everything that happened, whether it was logical or not. The country goes bankrupt? It's Roderich's fault. The alliance with the Hungarian government fails? It's Roderich's fault. It rains for a long time? It's Roderich's fault. No matter what happens, if it's bad, it's Roderich's fault, and it gives government officials the authority to walk all over him.

But of course, no one puts it into thought. Whenever I bring it up, the idea gets brushed off and ignored.

"In another hundred years he's going to forget that this even happened, and a hundred years is like a minute to him," my mother told me over dinner. "It's not like he has feelings anyway"

But I know she was wrong, because I know that Roderich is horribly, though almost inspiringly, human. Perhaps even more human than I am, maybe even more human than anyone in his own country of Austria.

The discovering of Roderich's humanity, however, came with the discovery of Roderich's ever-so-well-hidden emotions.

And that, my friends, is the story that I'm about to tell you.

* * *

On most days, Roderich would sit at his piano for hours at a time and play his piano until his fingers were sore and I had to fetch him lotion. Today, which was a rainy and dreary Sunday, was no different. Since he was writing sheet music, I decided to make him a cup of tea before he asked for it, since I knew he was about to.

After nine years of working for Roderich, I've finally mastered what kind of tea he drinks depending on the scenario (which is very important, because he refuses to drink whatever I've made him if it's the wrong one.) If he's writing music and it's raining outside, its Chamomile tea with two spoonfuls of sugar. If he's writing music and it's sunny, it's Chamomile tea with one sugar cube. If he's writing music and it's just barley drizzling, it's Earl Grey tea with no sugar. But if it's "drizzling hard" (whatever that is) it's Earl Grey with three teaspoons of sugar. If he's writing music and there's a thunderstorm, he drinks coffee. My boss is complicated in a way that's borderline unnecessary.

I prepared him his cup of Chamomile tea and set it in front of him, taking a step back. Roderich's eyes were narrowed in concentration from focusing on his music, and his eyes glanced briefly at me, though showing no interest.

"What type is it?" Roderich asked, and I knew immediately he was talking about the tea.

"Chamomile," I answered; my voice straightforward and polite.

"With two spoonfuls of sugar?"

"Yes, sir"

"Not teaspoons?"

"No, sir"

"Good"

He took a brief sip of tea, and then returned his attention to his music. "What day is it today, Daniel?"

"Sunday," I responded.

"No, I meant what day is it today?" Roderich turned to me. "Of the month?"

"Oh, the thirtieth," I said. "Of June"

Roderich muttered something under his breath, shutting his songbook and closing up his piano. "And you're sure today's the thirtieth?"

"Yes, sir," I said. "Your family will be over around four"

"Can't you cancel it?"

"This is a traditionally annual event, sir, I can't cancel it"

Roderich gritted his teeth. On the thirtieth of June, his "family", or better known as the Germanic countries, come over to one of their houses, this year's host being Roderich. The idea is to clean out the attic, which is filled to the brim with old pictures and outfit's and history, but is mostly filled with dust.

"This could be a good thing, sir, the attic is nearly filled," I said, hoping to get him in a better mood. But Roderich's mood is always at least a little bad.

"I suppose so," Roderich sighed.

"Is there a problem?" I asked.

"I hate my family"

"I know, sir,"

"Then why don't you cancel?"

"Because it would be inconvenient; today's the day they come over. We'll receive complaints from three countries"

Roderich sighed. "Whatever, could you prepare tea or something for them? Or maybe coffee"

"I don't think coffee is such a good idea, sir, Liechtenstein is a little girl," I reminded him, though I doubt he forgot that. "Switzerland won't allow that"

"Tea, then, I don't care," Roderich sighed, and then headed upstairs. As I prepared the tea, I wondered if Roderich actually did hate his family. I couldn't find any aspect about them that made me hate them; even though Germany terrified me and Switzerland freaked me out beyond all comparison (the man likes to hang out with sheep. If you ask me, something's mentally wrong with him.) At least Liechtenstein was cute, but her obsession with her "big brother" was borderline creepy. Ok, they were all weird. But were they really worth hating?

By three o'clock that day, Germany arrived an hour early. I took his coat and gave him a quick bow, and made the mistake of asking him how his day was.

"Well, for starters, Feliciano came over and wouldn't leave me alone. He's Italy, you know, and I don't think he grasps the concept that the war is over. All he wants to do is hang around my house, and I haven't heard a word from Kiku—he's Japan. And the UN won't get off my ass for more than ten seconds . . . I think I'm going to die from migraines"

"That must be hard, Mr. Germany," I said in response, though my mind was wondering if I left the tea kettle on the fire. If I did, the tea would burn and I'd be met with the fiery inferno that was Roderich's anger.

"It is!" Germany shook his head. "Not to mention people are coming up with the idea that the war was _my fault_! You know what they're calling it? World War II, can you believe it, boy? As if this was a second _world war_"

"In their defense, sir, the Nazis did take over more than half of Europe," I said, taking a step back so I could be closer to the kitchen just in case the tea burned. "And the U.S. got involved, so it was kind of a World War"

"Whatever," Germany huffed. "It still wasn't _my fault_, right?"

"Hardly, sir," I said, inching my way backwards. "It was Hitler and the Nazi party's fault, not yours. You were simply a victim"

"I'm _not_ a victim, it's not like I'm a damsel in distress," Germany snapped, and I knew instantly that calling him a victim was a poorly educated mistake. "I can't choose who my boss is, even if he's insane"

"Right, my mistake," I muttered, hearing the tea kettle begin to scream. "Uh—it's just the German people who were victims—not you—can we continue this conversation later, sir?"

Germany shrugged, and I shouted up the stairs. "Mr. Edelstein, Germany's here!"

"Already?! It's only three!"

"He's _always_ here early, sir!"

"Right, right, whatever"

I made my way to the kitchen, picking up the tea kettle and pouring a couple of cups of tea. The attic was horribly humid, so I figured iced tea would be the smarter choice. I let the tea cool before putting ice in it and setting it in the refrigerator.

Switzerland and Liechtenstein always arrived together, and they always arrived exactly on time, not a minute too early or a minute too late. As I took Liechtenstein's coat, the little girl grabbed my hand and insisted that she had a present for me.

"Close your eyes," she commanded lightly, and I obeyed. When she told me I could open them, I'd found that she'd adorned my hair with small wildflowers, all forming a crown around my head.

"You always help us so much, so I made you a flower crown!" she looked so happy with her creation.

"It's lovely, Miss Liechtenstein," considering the fact that her incredibly over-protective older brother was staring me down, I decided on giving her the polite and traditional response. "I'll treasure it"

"You can call me Lilli, you know," Liechtenstein said, looking at me with her big green eyes. "We're friends"

"I'll—I'll remember that," I said, once again gaining an angry look from Switzerland.

"Mr. Edelstein, Mr. Germany!" I called up the stairs. "Mr. Switzerland and Miss Liechtenstein are here!"

"Send them up, and bring drinks!" I heard Roderich called, and I moved to the side so the two could climb upstairs. I came up moments later, balancing a tray of iced tea in my hands.

Roderich took a glass from me. "Wait here in case anyone needs anything, ok?"

"Yes, sir," I muttered, waiting by the door. I'd hoped he'd let me leave so I could practice the piano. On a normal day basis, Roderich wouldn't let anyone do so much as breathe the wrong way on his precious piano. But if he was upstairs, the sound didn't echo because of the house's walls, so he wouldn't hear. And if I cleaned off my fingerprints and dusted off the seat, there'd be no proof that I was even near his piano.

The four countries started off by unpacking boxes, and in an hour, Switzerland had happily found a collection of war rifles, Germany found a World War I Austrian uniform, and Liechtenstein had found dresses left over from Roderich's wedding (he'd gotten a divorce a while ago, and unsurprisingly, he didn't talk much about his ex-wife.)

And, the entire time, no one needed_ anything_.

But I still wasn't allowed to leave.

I teetered back on my heels, holding the tray in front of me and flipping it around in my hands and looking at my reflection on both sides. Bored out of my mind, I let out a breath and picked up a photo album that had been dug out of a box and forgotten about.

I giggled when I found a photo of a young Austria, who smiled at the camera without a care in the world. Funny, it seemed that in all the photos of Austria as a child, he was smiling or laughing. He was a happy, cute kid who looked nice and polite.

_What happened_? I thought with a small smile, flipping through more photos. I frowned as I came upon a picture of a meeting between the Germanics, but not because they looked unhappy.

There was a man I didn't recognize sitting in the center of the table, a man with white hair and what looked like dark eyes. But the picture was in black and white, so he could have easily been blonde. He looked a lot like Germany, but without Germany's seriousness. This man looked so happy and playful it was almost ridiculous, holding up a glass of beer with what looked like a little chick flying around his head.

I looked up, and then back at the photo album. I figured the man was just a human passing through or a friend of Germany's and continued looking. This was Austria's photo album, so why would one of Germany's friends show up?

That was the funny part. As I began to look through more and more pictures, the more the man seemed to appear. He was almost always with Roderich, and he was always smiling. Turning back to earlier pictures, a little boy with light hair and dark eyes seemed to stick out to me, and it didn't take long for me to realize that the little boy was just a younger version of the same man.

I grabbed a second photo album, flipping through the pictures with an almost desperate aura to my actions. And there he was again. Light colored messy hair and dark eyes, smiling with Hungary (whom I know of because she's Roderich's ex-wife) and Roderich. He wore an army uniform, he was often with a couple of countries I believe are Spain and France, but I could be wrong. He showed up many times, too many times for someone that I've never seen around the house, not in nine years straight.

I searched through about five or six more photo albums and he still appeared. He didn't frown in a single picture; he was always smiling or laughing in a way that was almost idiotic. In every photo album, he showed up at least three times.

In the second to last photo album, I found a single picture of the light haired man with his arm around Roderich. That was what surprised me the most; was the small, wisp of a smile on Roderich's face. That was the first time I'd seen him smile as an adult in any of the pictures.

And as I opened the most modern photo album, he was gone.

The man had disappeared from the pictures completely, all of the new pictures being of Roderich, Hungary, or any of the Germanic countries, but the man never showed up. And Roderich never smiled.

"Mr. Edelstein?" I called, pulling out the picture where Roderich smiled. "Who's this?"

Roderich looked up from his box, and then narrowed his eyes at the picture before grabbing it from my hands. ". . . What the hell . . .?"

"Oh, I'm sorry I was looking through your pictures, sir," I said quickly in my own defense. "I just saw it and got curious. I was only wondering who he was"

"I . . . I have no idea . . ." Roderich said slowly. "An old friend of Germany's, maybe?"

"I thought that at first, but he shows up a lot," I said with a shrug. "He's in almost every picture, and he's always with you or Miss Hungary. And then he just stops showing up entirely. Take a look"

Roderich took the photos from my hands almost aggressively and flipped through the pictures, his eyes narrowing and widening in disbelief.

"Guys," Roderich said. "Look at this, do any of you recognize this guy?" he handed a picture to each of them, each picture containing the mysterious man. They all looked confused that they were all in the picture with him, her mouths agape and their eyes wide.

"I don't recognize him . . ." Switzerland said slowly.

"He kind of looks like you, Germany!" Liechtenstein said with a giggle, trying to lighten up the mood.

"I don't know who he is!" Germany exclaimed.

"You look enough alike to be brothers," Roderich said. "The same face, eye type, and he looks like he was blonde"

"No, look closer," Germany pointed to the picture where he and the mysterious man stood side by side. "If he was blonde, our hair would be the same shade of gray. But his isn't. Judging by this picture, his hair was white"

"Who has white hair anyways? Isn't that impossible?" Liechtenstein asked.

"He could be albino," Switzerland pointed out.

"That would explain why his eyes are so dark . . ." Roderich said, taking the picture from him. Roderich's eyes didn't leave the smile he himself was wearing in the picture, the smile that made him look almost like a different person.

"Why does he show up so much? Germany, are you sure he's not related to you?" Switzerland turned to Germany.

"I've already told you, no! I'd remember him if he was family!" Germany snapped.

"Ok, we've discovered that he's not related to Germany . . ." Liechtenstein said calmly.

"Why's he hanging around Austria so much?" Switzerland asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe they were close?" Germany suggested.

"I'd remember him if we were close!" Roderich exclaimed, and he folded up the picture and stuck it in his pocket, pretending as if no one noticed (and I'm sure no one but me did notice.)

"He's got to be close to one of us, he's in nearly every picture!" Switzerland exclaimed.

"Big brother, calm down and drink some tea" Liechtenstein patted her brother's shoulder and offered him a glass of tea.

"Liechtenstein, I _can't calm down_, this weird guy that no one remembers is showing up in all of our pictures!" Switzerland exclaimed, but took the tea for her anyways and took a long drink.

"I've read somewhere that ghosts show up in pictures . . ." Liechtenstein suggested.

"You don't think that it's a ghost, do you?" Roderich muttered.

"How could he be a ghost, he's interacting with us!" Germany exclaimed.

"If I may suggest," I said, straightening my posture and clearing my throat to bring attention to myself. "Maybe you simply lost contact with him, and eventually forgot him?"

"Have you ever seen him around, Daniel?" Roderich asked.

"Not in the nine years I've worked here," I answered.

"Maybe he's . . ." Germany started.

"Dead," Switzerland finished for him. The room got quiet.

"In any case, dinner should be ready," I said in a rather cliché attempt to lighten the mood and break the silence. "You should all go downstairs and enjoy it, the attic is clean enough"

I was met with murmurs of agreement, but everyone's thoughts were obviously on the man in the pictures. Before I could turn and follow them downstairs, Roderich grabbed my arm.

"Keep looking through the pictures and read through the letters," Roderich whispered. "Try to find anything on that man, anything at all, and report to my office in two hours. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," I nodded, watching him walk down the stairs after his "family," if they could even be called that.

For whatever reason, I could tell that this wasn't healthy. I could tell that he was going to get obsessed, engrossed in finding out who this man was and why he smiled with him. I could tell that learning about his absence made Roderich feel empty. I could tell that if I did what he asked, Roderich's life was going to spiral into a hurricane of an insane obsession with a man that may or may not have been important to him in the past.

But as far as I was concerned, Roderich was a country, and countries don't have emotion.

So as I was asked, I began to look.

* * *

**_ If you don't like it, all I have to say is: I tried. _**

**_ In Shades of Blue,_**

**_ Ninja _**

**_ *BAGPIPES EXIT!*_**


	2. Chapter 2

_**~ * ~ * Chapter Two ~ * ~ ***_

I've learned many things from my years of working for Austria, and the first one being that my boss is only rational on his own terms.

For example, on my first day of work, I was terrified. But I wasn't scared because it was my first day; I was scared because my uniform didn't fit me. I'd heard that Mr. Austria (as I called him at the time) was an extreme perfectionist, and as far as I was concerned, he was made of stone and would pound me into the ground because my sleeves were too long.

The other servants told me where he was, and it took me twenty minutes or so, but I eventually made my way to the piano room. I paused, and that was only because I couldn't help myself. The sound was the most beautiful music I've ever heard, to my ears what sugar is to the taste buds. It was sound to put all the songbirds in the world to shame, to make crickets rethink their talents. For a moment, all I wanted to do was stand there and listen to the gorgeous music, but I knew better.

I cleared my throat, my eyes looking at the floor. "Mr. Austria, sir, my name is Daniel Feiersinger; I'm your new personal assistant"

He turned and looked at me, and I think anyone could see the look of utter shock and disbelief on my face. He didn't look like the horrible, ugly monster people seemed to make him out to be. My first surprise was that he looked human. And my second surprise was that he was so handsome in a way that was almost beautiful. He had dark hair that moved in a perfectly messy way (a style that I'd been trying to achieve for years with no success) with only a single strand astray (in a way that made it look like he was doing it on purpose.) His eyes were a light violet behind his glasses, and I didn't even know eyes could be that color. For a second, I merely stared at him, and I found myself anticipating his answer even though I didn't really ask him a question.

"Good morning," he said, and to my surprise, his voice didn't sound like something straight from heaven, but like any other man of his age that lived in this country. "My name is Austria, and you may refer to me as Mr. Austria or sir, do you understand?"

It took me a second to respond. "Yes, sir"

His fingers danced against the keys. "Mr. Feiersinger, do you play anything?"

I thought for a moment. "Checkers"

He didn't find my joke amusing.

"I meant instruments," Mr. Austria repeated. "I'm going to now make the question simple for you: do you play any _instruments_?"

". . . n-no" I muttered. "I never learned"

"I see," Mr. Austria looked me up and down. "What kind of Austrian doesn't know how to play any instruments?"

"My parents work, sir," I said. "We can't afford lessons or instruments so . . . I never learned"

"I see"

I thought I was going to be fired for sure. That Mr. Austria was going to fire me on my first day just so that he could hire some other kid whose sleeves fit him and knew how to play an instrument. But instead, he moved over on his bench and beckoned me to sit down.

I jumped onto the bench, and he looked down to look me in the eye, and smiled. "I'd say it's about time you learned, boy"

I blinked, and I think my smile was so wide it could have cracked my face in two. "Thank you, sir"

To my boss, it was irrational to have an assistant who couldn't play the piano, because the piano was the most important thing in his life. Though some might say it's a waste of time to teach a boy to play the piano, especially when it's a skill he doesn't need. But Mr. Austria loved music, and it was a gift he wished to share.

That was the day I got an idea about the man I was working for, someone who had his own laws and ideas of rationality.

For example, he believed that making me waste my time looking for information on someone no one remembered was completely _rational_.

There were probably hundreds of pictures of the mysterious man, all of him in difference ages with different outfits and different expressions on his face. But that hardly meant anything, considering none of them had any names or dates on them. And since there were no names, I couldn't look for any letters. So my only hope of doing my job right was to look at the pictures and try to weave together a tapestry of the kind of person he could've been.

I'd found a small, empty notebook in one of the many boxes, and I grabbed a quill and began to write, my main and only points began the conclusions I could draw from the pictures.

White hair

Red eyes

I thought for a moment, realizing what that meant.

Albino

I'd seen more idiotic mistakes, so I continued.

Owns a pet chick

Constantly happy

Seems idiotic

Unhealthy obsession of beer

Around the last couple of bullets, my writing got sloppy and almost illegible. I sighed in annoyance, slamming my pen on my notebook as I began to message my temples. "Who _is _this guy?"

I'd found an entire box of letters, all proven to be useless, as most of them were to a 'Elizaveta', a 'Feliciano', a 'Gilbert', a single one to 'Antonio' asking about the wellbeing of a 'Lovino', and a good number were just governmental business and envelopes delivering paperwork. But considering I didn't know the mysterious man's name, they all proved to be worth the dirt on my shoes.

There was a pile of close in one box, and I knew that only about a third of it was Austrian. A lot of them looked Hungarian; there was dress I'm guessing belonged to a four-year-old girl, and there was a blue uniform that I'm guessing was German. The outfit matched the one that the mysterious man was wearing in the picture, so I guessed that he'd been over to Roderich's house a lot. Or that the man left him all his clothes in his will when he died. If he was dead, that is.

I began to dig though the letters, trying to find anything that could have anything to do with that man. But there was nothing.

I picked up an envelope, and saw something flutter out of the box. It was a folded-up note, and it fluttered to the ground like a one-winged butterfly. I picked it up, and judging by the front of the note, the sender had just folded it up and sent it to Roderich's address. I opened it up, the note was short and the words were smeared. As if someone was crying as they wrote it.

**I'M GOING TO DIE**

* * *

"This is all you found?" Roderich asked, his fingers playing with the note as he read it for what could be the millionth time.

"I got these points," I handed him the small notebook, which he opened quickly and read over the bullets hungrily. "But since I couldn't find his name, none of the letters were useful. That's all I could find"

"And you suspect it's relevant?" Roderich asked.

"It isn't signed, so it's my only lead," I said, shrugging. "And why would anyone send you a note like that without even putting in an envelope?"

"Point taken," Roderich said, sighing and handing the note back to me. "Is there a return address?"

I looked. "Friedrichshain, Warschauer Straße 21, 78374 Berlin, Germany"

"I _knew _he was related to Germany," Roderich hissed, and then turned to me. "Daniel, get two train tickets from here to Berlin"

I raised an eyebrow. "Two? Who's the second one for?"

"You, Daniel," Roderich said, his attention on the note he'd already read sixty or so times. "I need my personal assistant for this," he turned to me, folding up the note in his back pocket. "To take notes"

* * *

Before that day, I'd never been on a train. Roderich told me to pack two or three outfits, to keep them professional, and a book for the way. He also told me to act with the three P's: professional, polite, and punctual. He made me repeat that rule for half an hour, only to recite their vocabulary and parts of speech for the half hour after that.

That night, I paced across my room and repeated all the rules with what could be considered a rather insulting British accent. I packed what could be mistaken for three suits, but these didn't have tuxedo jackets. I pledged to myself three times straight that I was going to be professional, polite, and punctual. I kept repeating this pledge until my mother came up and told me that it was almost one o'clock in the morning and that I needed to go to bed.

I woke up around three o'clock AM (since I went to sleep so late, I was nothing short of an early morning monster) and arrived at Roderich's house around three thirty. Instead of praise, however, I got a nod of the head that told me that I was a good boy for being on time.

But by the time we got to the train station, I was practically a child again.

I rushed into the train, nearly gave the waiter fifty schillings for giving me a soda (Roderich stopped me and suggested I give him a few coins instead), and stuck my head out the window and screamed at the top of my lungs that I was on a train.

"Remember the three P's, Daniel," Roderich huffed.

"WHAT?" I shouted over the train's wind.

"The three P's" Roderich repeated.

"I REMEMBER THEM"

"What are they?"

"PROFESSIONAL, POLITE, AND PUNCTUAL"

"You don't need to shout, Daniel,"

"WHAT?"

"Shouting, you're shouting. You don't need to"

"SORRY, I DIDN'T NOTICE I WAS SHOUTING"

"You're doing it again"

"WHAT?"

"Shouting, you're shouting again"

"I'M SORRY"

"That's enough, Daniel"

"WHAT?"

Roderich huffed, and then pulled out his book and began to read, mumbling something about teenagers being ruffians. I had my head out the window for other twenty or so minutes, until an attendant told me that it was a health hazard and that I needed to close the window. I read a chapter or two in my book before falling asleep in my seat.

I was woken up by a slap in the head with a book (hardcover, let me tell you) and I jolted awake. Roderich glared at me while I rubbed the relatively large red bump that was forming on my forehead. "We're here"

When we got off the train, the sun was high in the sky and the clock in the center of the station said it was three o'clock (roman numerals, so it was like three-something.) I blinked, stretching my back, feeling it crack.

"How long was I out?" I asked.

"Nine hours," Roderich said simply, looking around for a taxi.

"_Nine hours_?" my eyes were wide.

"You didn't get much sleep last night, did you?" Roderich rolled his eyes as he whistled for a taxi. "You slept like a baby the entire ride, except for the first hour. Yes, thank you" he gestured for me to enter the taxi with him, while handing our bags to the driver.

"You're welcome, sir," the driver said, starting up the car. "Where to?"

"Friedrichshain, Warschauer Straße 21," Roderich said, and I was surprised by the tone of his voice. He spoke as if he'd memorized that address, like he read it over a million times. To me, that seemed like the first step of what was about to turn into a horrible, horrible obsession.

The drive was about an hour or two, and when the ride was over, the driver turned to us and raised an eyebrow. "You sure this is the place you wanna go?"

"Yes, thank you," Roderich and I exited the car, and he sped off just seconds after receiving his pay. The house in question was tall, the paint peeling off with only about a window or two with glass in them. Even the concrete seemed cracked, the wooden entrance rotting and falling to pieces, and the metal doorknob rusted to the point where one would have guessed it was originally painted that rustic red, if not for the glimmers of gold showing though the rust.

"No one's lived here in years," I breathed, but Roderich ignored me and walked straight into the house. At his footsteps, I could hear the scurrying of small animals and the wings of birds flying away in terror. Nearly everything on the inside had either dust or a spider web on it, anything metal was covered in rust and the ceiling had a number of holes in it. I coughed; the dust flying into my mouth.

"It isn't so bad," I said, looking around with a nervous smile. "I mean, it's kind of, err . . . disgusting, but it looks like it was a great place, once"

"It's deserted," Roderich muttered, and I could just hear the disappointment dripping in his voice.

"Not quite"

I turned, only to find the barrel of a gun in the center of my forehead. I gulped, getting a good look at who was threatening me. It was a woman, one who probably was young, but with the look in her eyes and the smell of her breath, she looked much older. Her hair was so dirty it was impossible to detect a certain color, but it looked a horrible bright blonde that was almost white. Her eyes, though bright blue, were bloodshot and dead in their sockets. Her breath smelled like vodka, and I could see the white power stuck under her fingernails. Her dress hung off her, her jacket torn and ripped at the seams, and judging by the blisters on the back of her heels, her high heels were too small for her.

"I don' let men in ma' house unles' dey pay fer it," she sneered, and I could see her lipstick-stained yellow teeth. "So I sugges' you get de hell outta here, the both of ya, before I blow dis kid's brains out"

"This isn't your house," Roderich muttered.

"Huh?" she turned to him, not taking the gun off my head.

"This isn't your house," Roderich repeated, his voice louder.

The woman laughed. "It's no'un's house, it' been aban'oned for years"

"It was someone's house, once," Roderich said. "I only have a question or two to ask you, Ma'am, so why don't you take the gun off of my assistant's head so we can talk about this like civilized people"

The woman stared at him for a long time, and then she lowered her gun from off my head. "Ask away, Tuxedo Man"

Roderich took in a breath. "My name is Austria, Ma'am, and you are?"

"Ah, I see," the woman scoffed, taking a cigarette out of her pocket. "Yer one of dem country pretty boys who goes around thinkin' they're better than every'un"

"Madam, I hardly act like—!" Roderich started, but I stepped in front of him to interrupt. Roderich grew up in a rich environment for his entire life, so I knew we'd have a better chance if I talked to her.

"My name is Daniel Feiersinger, I'm Mr. Austria's personal assistant," I said. "We're just going to ask you a few questions, and then we'll leave"

"Personal assistant?" the woman blew a puff of smoke, right into my face. "I see; so yer like his little dog. You carry 'im around and do all da dirt' work for 'im. Cute"

I gritted my teeth, but Roderich stepped in front of me, taking the picture out of his back pocket and holding it out in front of him. "We're looking for this man," he pointed to the picture of the mysterious man. "Have you seen him?"

"Why're lookin' for 'im?" the woman bit her lower lip, looking him up and down. "Are you a fag or somethin'?"

Roderich's eyes widened, as if he'd never heard anyone use that word before. But he shook his head, as if clearing his mind of those thoughts. "He's been showing up in all my pictures and no one in my family recognizes him, I think you can understand why I'm curious to who he is"

"Nah, I c'n't," the woman glared at him. "It's not like you h've emotion or an'thin', so it don' matter who he is. You're not human. You're jus an empty shell with a pretty face," she stepped closer to him, the smoke curling around his face and through the strands of his hair. "You're never gonna get emotion, you're entire life is fucking meanin'less. You're beneath me"

Roderich's eyes were wide, and he looked as if he'd never been more insulted in his life. I couldn't blame him. Here was some back-alley hooker who smelled like a mixture of vodka and crack cocaine that was living in an abandoned house, and she talked as if she was worth so much more than him. I gritted my teeth; whether or not I believed that Roderich had emotion, no one deserved to have someone say that to them.

"Look, lady," I snapped. "We came all the way from Vienna to get here, and we're not reporting you to the police for trespassing. The least you could do is answer his questions and not be a bitch, ok?"

The woman looked at me. "That's da rudest thing anyone's ever said tuh me," she took a step closer, and then winked. "I like that"

"You're disgusting," I snapped.

"Wut'eva," she huffed. "I'll answer yer goddamned questions, ya happy?"

"Not yet," I muttered.

"Have you or haven't you seen this man?" Roderich asked, pointing once again to the picture.

"Yeh, I've seen 'im," she huffed, letting out a puff of smoke.

"When? Where?" Roderich sounded desperate.

"Calm down, pretty boy," the woman sneered. "I hav'n't seen 'im since '47, it's been a good two years"

"Five years," I corrected. "It's been a good _five_ years"

"What?" she turned to me. "What year is it?"

"1952," I answered.

"Please," she scoffed. "I'd kno' if it w's '52"

"No, you wouldn't," I snapped. "You're an idiot, remember?"

"Why hasn't he been here since '47?" Roderich asked. "Doesn't he live here?"

"I dunno, maybe," the woman shrugged, tossing the cigarette out of her mouth and onto the ground. It burned for a second longer before dying in a puff of smoke. "He came here for da night, back when dis was a pretty place, so yeah, I guess he liv'd here"

"Why'd he move?" Roderich asked.

"He didn'," she took another cigarette, sticking it in her mouth and lighting it. "In '46, he start'd actin' weird, all depress'd and shit. In the beginnin' of '47, he start'd actin' sick. Then, one day, he came in and he didn' come out. Nev'r came back"

"Do . . . do you think there's a chance he could be alive?" Roderich asked.

"Dunno, don' care," the woman shrugged.

"What do you mean you don't _care_?" Roderich asked. "You saw all this happen and you don't care? Didn't you know him at all?"

"We all knew 'im," the woman put her finger to her chin in thought. "The name escapes me, but I remember that face. I remember that even if you lived on da streets or if you lived in da houses, you knew 'im at least a littl'. And before he left fo' good, he went on and on about gettin' a letter to some'un"

"And you didn't care at all?" I asked. "Not even the least bit curious?"

"Aren't you upset that he's gone and that you don't remember him?" Roderich asked.

"No," she let out a puff of smoke, licking her lips and ruining her lipstick. "I always thought he was a weird little shit"

* * *

_**Is the plot moving too slowly? I dunno . . .**_

_**That's not a real address in Germany, well, the place is real (Warschauer Straße, I mean,) but I made the address up. All the numbers are fake, so don't even bother looking them up. **_

_**The next chapter will be up on Wednesday. **_

_**In Shades of Blue, **_

_**Ninja **_

_***BAGPIPES EXIT!***_


	3. Chapter 3

_**~ * ~ * Chapter Three ~ * ~ ***_

If I thought anything of my boss, it's that he gives up easily. If he got no inspiration on a song, he gave up on it. If there was a long walk to the grocery store, he wouldn't go (much to my disappointment.) If he didn't have anyone to drive him (or no one to pick him up if he got lost) he simply stayed at home. My boss had little to no motivation to do anything, and that made him a hard person to work for, as I ended up doing anything he just 'didn't feel like' doing.

As we exited the house, I expected him to throw some sort of mini-tantrum, to kick a lamp post (then hop around because he hurt his foot) and throw something on the ground. Then he would exclaim that none of this was worth it and book us on the next train back to Vienna.

But, much to my surprise, we left the house in a hurry and Roderich insisted that we ask around for anyone that knew him. "The house next door is still intact, we can ask them"

However, I covered my surprise and nodded, walking a few steps behind him as we walked to the house next door. Roderich straightened his collar, and then knocked on the door a couple of times. Instantly, a dog barked. It sounded like some kind of big dog, so Roderich jumped back and stepped behind me.

"Hush, hush!" there was the sound of someone snapping their fingers, and the door opened. It was a woman in her mid-to-late twenties, with blonde hair tied back in a ponytail and blue eyes that were the exact color of the sky. Even with her young looks, her eyes had a look of seriousness in them. I could see a scar stretching from her neck to her left collarbone because of her tank top, but she didn't seem to mind me looking at it.

"Hello," she looked me over, her eyes glancing to Roderich for a mere second, and she looked like she was trying hard not to laugh. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, my name is Daniel Feiersinger, I work for Mr. Austria," I gestured behind me, where Roderich offered a wave to prove that he was the Austria in question. "He has a couple of questions regarding the man who used to live next door to you, do you mind?"

"No, not at all," she said, opening the door. "Come in, come in" she hissed at her dog, which was a Bassett Hound with a bark like a trumpet horn. "Down, Pepper"

She turned to us and smiled. "Would you like something to drink? Water, soda?"

"We don't want to intrude—" I started.

"Water, please," Roderich said.

The woman patted me on the back (she had a strong hit for someone who was just playing around.) "Nonsense, you're a growing boy! I bet you want some soda?"

It took me a second to respond, but I nodded. "Yes, please, ma'am"

She set our drinks in front of us, and then sat in the couch directly in front of us. "My name is Ada, Ada Orenstein. What is it you wanted to ask me about?"

"Mrs. Orenstein—," Roderich started.

"It's just Miss Orenstein, Mr. Austria," she said with a smile. "I'm not married"

"You aren't?" that got to me; she seemed the eligible age to be married, maybe even to have a small child. Apparently, Roderich thought similarly.

"You look the age," he raised an eyebrow.

"I've never really wanted a family," Ada shrugged, patting Pepper on the head.

"That's nonsense, family should be the most important thing to a—!" Roderich stopped himself, and thankfully so. "The most important thing to anyone"

"Yes, well," Ada narrowed her eyes. "I wasn't exactly thinking about my need for a family when I was in Stalingrad, ok?"

My eyes widened, as did Roderich's. But while Roderich's eyes were wide in fear, mine were in amazement. "You fought in Stalingrad? For the Nazi party?"

"But you're a woman!" Roderich exclaimed. "Hitler would never have let—!"

"My family's been fighting for the German army for years, Hitler didn't have a problem with another Orenstein wanting to join the forces," Ada sighed, scratching Pepper behind the ears. "I can't say I'm proud to have been a solider for Hitler's army, and war wasn't exactly a pleasant experience"

"How long were you in war?" I asked, sitting forward in my seat.

"Four years, I was home for the end of the war," Ada said.

"Do you live alone?" I asked, and Pepper barked. "Other than Pepper, I mean"

"No, my brother lives with me," Ada explained. "But he's out, so it's just me and Pepper"

I had a billion and more questions to ask her about the Battle of Stalingrad, but Roderich gave me a glare that said nothing short of 'shut your mouth.' He took a picture out of his pocket and then slid it across the table. "We're looking for this man; we think he might've lived next door to you?"

Ada's blue eyes overlooked the picture, and she held it up to her face, squinting. ". . . yeah, I knew him. At least I think I did. His name escapes me, but he definitely lived next door to me"

"Did you know his name?" Roderich asked. And there it was again: that desperate tone of voice that made my eyebrows rise and my deepest worries resurface. I would consider him my boss rather than my friend, but even so, I didn't want to see him lose his sanity. Who wants to work for a crazy person? Not this guy.

"No, I can't remember . . ." Ada bit her lower lip. "I remember the details. I remember he was funny in a way that was almost annoying, I remember that he was an albino, I remember that he had a little brother that he talked about a lot . . . but I don't remember his name"

"Whatever," Roderich shook his head. "Tell me what you know"

Ada's smile was full of memories, her eyes half-closed in reminiscence. "He's the one who got me to join the army. My argument was similar to yours, Mr. Austria, something along the lines of 'they'll never let me in, I'm a girl!' But he told me that they wouldn't care, that I would make a great solider. He also threw in the fact that my brother was spineless, and that someone from our family had to join the army, given that we were Orenstein's. He always saw the big picture, never the little details. If he thinks someone will be good at anything, he'll make sure they do it. Things like gender and race weren't important to him"

"Anything else?" Roderich asked. "Did you speak to him before he—" he swallowed. "Died?"

"Yes," she looked sad, for a moment. "He started acting different, at first. He came over at lot more often, and he was getting a lot less sleep. Then he wasn't laughing or joking around anymore. Then he started going on and on about how much land he was losing—"

"Land?" Roderich's eyes were wide. "He was a country?"

Ada thought for a moment. "Yes, yes he was"

"That's impossible," I said, looking from her, to Roderich, to the ice that was sinking in my drink. "Countries can't die"

Ada looked me over, the look in her eyes enough to freeze a lake. "Mr. Feiersinger, what do you think happens when a country falls, when they lose their land?"

"That doesn't happen," I said. "Countries can't die—"

"What happened to all those countries that lose their land, then?" Ada asked. "Countries like the Holy Roman Empire, the Roman Empire, Hessen, Lübeck, or Sumer? What happens when they lose their land, their government falls, and they just become part of another country? What happens then? Aren't countries only immortal when their country of origin is intact?"

"I've . . . I've never thought of that . . ." I said, slowly, my eyes wandering to the floor.

"That's what happened to him," Ada pointed to the man in the picture. "His country fell, and he died. I suppose that's Mother Nature's grim reminder that not everything lasts forever, huh?"

I looked at Roderich, and I wondered if he knew that. For a minute, I tried to put myself in his shoes.

Mortality meant that things like death and old age were a promise. I remember that I realized that when I was six years old, when I was lying in bed at night. I realized that one day I was going to get old, one day I was going to have to move out of the house and live on my own, and that one day I was going to die. The thought terrified me, and that night was a long and sleepless night.

But what if things like death and old age weren't a promise, but a mere chance? The price of immortality would be the risk that one day, after you've fallen in love with the right person and made the right friends, your entire world falls apart and you die. I didn't know which was worse. My promise of death, or the way this man died only to be forgotten by everyone he ever knew.

"You knew about that, right?" Ada asked. "The chance that you could die?"

Roderich nodded. "But all those names . . . I don't remember any of them"

"Not even one?" I asked.

"Well . . . the Holy Roman Empire seems familiar," Roderich admitted with a shrug. "And of course, everyone knows the Roman Empire. But I can't remember any of the others"

"Hessen, Lübeck, and the Holy Roman Empire were German states, which is to say, their land was somewhere in your place, or Germany's, or Switzerland's," Ada said. "Sumer was in the Middle East, but I'd say you should've known about the other three. Perhaps that's another consequence of being a country—"

"When you die, no one remembers you," I whispered.

Before Ada could say anything in response, there was the sound of a door opening and footsteps. Pepper barked and ran over to the door, and there was a hushing sound that was followed by more extremely loud footsteps.

"Sis! Sis, I got pie—!" the man looked almost identical to Ada, with the exact shade of blonde hair and blue eyes as hers. But his hair was messy when Ada's was perfectly kept, and he had a more playful and ridiculous aura to him. And true to his words, he had around three boxes of pie in his arms. " . . . Are these friends of yours, sis?"

"No," she said. "They're only here to ask a few questions about our old neighbor"

"Neighbor?" he looked genuinely confused. "No one's lived in that house for a hundred years"

"No one's lived there since '47, Alex" she reminded him.

"And that was . . . ?" the man, Alex, bit his lower lip.

"Five years ago"

"Right"

Roderich cleared his throat and drew the attention back onto himself. "Mr. Orenstein, do you know anything about this man?"

Alex started at the picture for about ten minutes, and then snapped his fingers. "_Oh_! Yeah! I remember him! I remember everything about him!"

"Really? What was his name?" Roderich asked, sitting forward in his seat.

"Oh, I don't remember," Alex shrugged.

"_What_? But you just said—!" Roderich started.

"What do you remember, exactly, Mr. Orenstein?" I asked, grabbing Roderich by the shoulder and forcing him to sit back down.

"He used to live next door," Alex said, taking a seat. He opened one of his packages of pie, grabbed a fork, and began to eat it straight out of the box. "And he was, like, seriously childish. I remember this one time when Ada got back from the war, and he was seriously mad at her for getting a higher stance than him. 'Cause he was a . . . what was he, sis? A Corporal?"

"A sergeant," Ada said with a straight face, eyeing his box of pie. "He was a sergeant and I was a sergeant major"

"Yeah, yeah, that," he giggled like a schoolgirl. "He used to come over all the time because we had more channels on our TV and we always have pie. And he was all pissed at her because she was a sergeant major, so there was this point in time where he refused to talk to Ada. Like, Ada would ask him if he wanted anything, and then he'd tap me on the shoulder and be all 'could you tell _Sergeant Major Orenstein_ that I would like a glass of soda?' It was kind of hilarious, and it took him, like, a year and half to get over it"

"And you don't remember his name?" Roderich asked.

The twins (at least, I thought they were twins, as we never asked) exchanged a glance, and then shrugged. "No," Ada said. "His name escapes me. But I have this odd feeling that we were close to him"

"Before he died," Alex said. "He kept going on and on and on about getting a letter to someone. He started asking Ada if she knew anything about writing, and when he started asking _me_ if I knew anything about writing, I knew he was getting desperate. But it was pretty clear that he wanted to get a letter to someone, and he wanted the letter to be good"

"I see," Roderich stood up. "Mr. Orenstein, Miss Orenstein, thank you for your help. Come now, Daniel, we're leaving"

I have a small dip of the head to both of them, and took a couple of schillings out of my pockets to pay for the drinks. "It's Austrian money," I hissed under my breath. "But you could probably convert it"

"You don't have to—" Ada started.

"I insist, keep it," I said, and then I ran off after Roderich. He looked annoyed, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders risen to his ears. It was hard to understand what he was muttering specifically, but I could tell it was something related to this entire trip being a waste and how he wasn't getting anywhere.

"Mr. Austria! Mr. Feiersinger!"

When I turned, Alex was running after us. "I—I remembered his name . . . well, I remembered part of it"

"You did?" Roderich practically shoved me aside and walked towards him. "Tell me!"

"Err . . . I don't know his first name, but I know his last name was Beilschmidt," Alex said. "I hope that helps"

"Thank you, Mr. Orenstein," I said. "Have a good day"

Alex waved us goodbye and turned back to his house, and I looked to Roderich. His eyes were wide, his mouth open slightly. For a minute he just stood there, and then he blinked, once, twice, four times before turning to me.

"Mr. Edelstein?" I asked. "Are you alright?"

"Beilschmidt . . . ." Roderich breathed. "Do you know what this means, Daniel?"

"That his last name was Beilschmidt?" I asked.

"_Germany's_ last name is Beilschmidt," Roderich said, narrowed his eyes at me. "And that means we have a lead"

* * *

When we arrived at Germany's place, Roderich insisted that I ring the doorbell. When it was followed by the sound of three dogs barking in sequence, I thought Roderich was going to faint. But he stuck with hiding behind me once again. My best guess is that he had this irrational phobia of dogs that I'm going to have to deal with in a couple of months.

"_Silencio, silencio_!" the door was opened by a man that I've only come to know by pictures of him when he was younger and from what Roderich says about him. His hair was a light auburn in color with a stray curl coming from his hair. His eyes were a shade of brown that almost looked golden, and his smile was the widest I've ever seen on a human face when he saw Roderich.

"_Papa_, it's good to see you!" he hugged him tightly, and Roderich stiffened up to a point where it looked like he was frozen solid. "What're you doing in Germany?"

"I could ask you the same question, Italy," Roderich said, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

I was trying my hardest not to laugh. "I didn't know you had a son"

"I don't have a—" Roderich started, but Italy came forward and gave me the biggest hug I've ever gotten in my entire life.

"Oh, you must be his _real_ son! I was kind of adopted, you see," Italy smiled and took my face in his hands, squeezing my cheeks together as if I was the just the cutest kid on the playground. "You've got to be related to him, you've got hair like his but your eyes are like Hungary's! If you start using glasses when you get older, you'll look like a perfect mixture of the two of them!"

". . . What?" Roderich looked as if he was having a hard time comprehending what was going on.

"Y-you don't understand, Mr. Italy," I took a step back; touching my face just to make sure he hadn't ripped my cheeks off. "My name is Daniel Feiersinger. I'm not Mr. Edelstein's son, I just work for him"

"Oh, poo," Italy pouted, pressing his lips together. "I've always wanted a little brother. Hey, aren't you a little young to be working for someone?"

"Um, I'm sixteen years old," I looked to the floor, and for the first time in my time of working for Roderich, I began to worry about the subject of my age. Was I _really_ too young for this job? "I've been working for Mr. Edelstein since I was seven"

"_Seven_? I was, too!" Italy patted me on the back, and the sensation was one similar to getting a pillow thrown at you. "I did chores and everything! Man, it was tiring! I feel _so_ sorry for you, kid!"

"T-thank you . . .?" I said slowly, and I could see Roderich slap himself on the face.

"Italy, is Germany home?" Roderich asked. "We have some questions for him"

"Oh, yeah, he's here," Italy grabbed me by the hand and dragged me along inside after him. "C'mon, I'll take you to him"

"Yeah, thanks . . ." I gave a nervous laugh, and then turned my head back to Roderich and hissed. "_Help me_!" My only response was Roderich shrugging and walking in after us, and then speeding up his pace and grabbing onto my sleeve when Germany's dogs began to bark at him.

"Down, down!" Italy scolding, yet not letting go of my hand. The biggest dog, which was a hulking German shepherd, growled and snapped at Roderich. Roderich let out a cry of fear, and then jumped behind me and dug his fingernails into the fabric of my shirt (I think he drew blood.)

"I'll go get Germany," Italy said with a smile, leaving the two of us on the couch. He ran over to the kitchen first, and then came back with two glasses.

"Here's some wine for papa and a glass of apple juice for the boy!" Italy smiled, bopping me on the nose and then running up the stairs. I flinched a bit, and then returned my attention to my apple juice. The first thing I noticed was that he didn't put ice in it. I wasn't sure if I could even drink this.

"Looks like you have a new friend," Roderich had what could be interpreted either as a smile or that something was irritating his face.

"I guess," I sighed, taking a sip of the juice. To be honest, it was the best apple juice I've ever tasted. But I think it would've tasted better if it had ice in it, mind you.

Italy returned only mere moments later with Germany following him. Come to think of it, I usually think of countries like a child thinks of their teachers. When I was little, I thought that teachers slept in the teacher's lounge and that they did nothing but work. Today, I thought that countries thought nothing but how they ran their countries.

So, generally, it surprised me to see Germany in something as plain and simple as a t-shirt and jeans. He was only wearing socks, but even so, his hair was still gelled back in its usual fashion. I don't think anyone will ever see Germany with his hair messy, even if you come at him in the middle of the night. Germany had his hands in his pockets, and he sat directly across from us, Italy sitting next to him.

"Roderich," Germany said, offering him a nod of the head, and then his eyes filled with confusion when he looked at me. "And . . . Dave, was it?"

"Daniel," Italy corrected him before I could even do so much as to open my mouth. Italy then put his hand over Germany's, but that wasn't what I really noticed. What I noticed was that Germany didn't do anything to stop him, and that he didn't recoil or pull away when Italy squeezed his hand.

"Yes, well . . . what're you doing here?" Germany asked.

"We're trying to find out who this man is," Roderich said, taking out the picture and passing it to Germany. Germany and Italy overlooked the picture, and neither of them had that wonderful look of recognition that I was hoping for.

"And your search has brought you here because . . .?" Germany raised an eyebrow.

"An old neighbor of his told us that his last name was Beilschmidt," Roderich said.

"It's a common name in Germany," Germany narrowed his eyes.

"They also said they he was a country," Roderich said; this was beginning to get dangerous, I could tell.

"Countries can't die"

"What happens when a countries loses their land? When they _aren't_ a country anymore?"

"I don't know because that's _never happened before_"

"What if it has?"

"It hasn't"

"Ludwig, he looks a lot like you and now he has your last name!"

"I wouldn't forget my own family!"

"If it _hasn't happened before_, then how do you know that?"

"You don't just forget people, especially not someone you cared about!"

"Then why's he in all of our pictures?"

"I don't know and I don't care, Roderich," Germany narrowed his eyes in anger. "Now why the hell do you care?"

That question was met with silence, Roderich's eyes widening behind his glasses. I think this is the first time the question occurred to him since we started this search: why _did_ he care so much?

"Mr. Germany," I jumped off of the couch and sat beside him, whispering in his ear. "Mr. Edelstein is very convinced that this man was related to you, it'd be very appreciated if you would just go along with it, please,"

Germany thought for a moment, and then nodded. "Alright, never let it be said that I'm not a reasonable man. The attic is full of old pictures and letters, you can look through it to see if you can find anything on," he tapped at the picture. "Him"

"Thank you," Roderich grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, dragging me backwards. Italy made an attempt to grab my arm, jerking me back.

"Give him a break, papa, he's just a kid," Italy smiled at me and pulled me in for another suffocating hug. "He can stay with me and Germany and relax for a bit"

"_Relax_? He works for me!" Roderich exclaimed. "He _has_ to help me! Not to mention, I doubt he even wants to—!"

"Actually," I said with one of the proudest smirks I've ever worn in my life. "It would be nice to get to know your," another smirk of success. "_Family_"

"Yay!" Italy dragged me backwards, all while Roderich had this horrified yet angry look to him. "We can drink lemonade and you can tell all about what it's like to work for Roddy! Do you like cookies? 'Cause I made a bunch of them, and Kiku sent me a ton of Japanese candy—!"

"Kiku?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Who's Kiku?"

"Oh, you probably know him as Japan, if you even know him at all," Italy smiled. "Oh, look! There's another thing for us to talk about!"

Even with Italy's ongoing happy banter, I couldn't help but feel a little bad for leaving Roderich all alone to look for pictures in the attic. Of course, I believed that I had no reason to. This was _his_ problem, and as his personal assistant, I was only here because he told me to come. If he left here disappointed, it wouldn't be my fault. If he found nothing, it wouldn't be my fault. If this entire trip was nothing but an idiotic waste of time and money, it wouldn't be my fault. And if he threw away all of his sanity trying to find out whoever this person was, it wouldn't be my fault.

No matter what happened, I wouldn't be to blame. And that's all that mattered, right? His wellbeing was none of my concern, and it wasn't like I cared anyways.

And so, I pushed the thought of out my mind, and prepared to enjoy myself.

* * *

_**I want these chapters to be relatively long. Do you think I brought too many OCs in or . . .?**_

_**The next chapter will be up on Wednesday. **_

_**In Shades of Blue,**_

_**Ninja**_

_***BAGPIPES EXIT!***_


	4. Chapter 4

_**~ * ~ * Chapter Four ~ * ~ ***_

Outside of Roderich's family, I've never met any country other than Roderich himself. But I had my theories about country personalities, given that all of the Germanic countries were "manly", tough, disciplined, and polite. Even Liechtenstein, in her young age, was mature beyond her years and most likely smarter than I am. My newest theory about country personalities was that countries share those traits when around humans (such as myself.) Those traits being "tough," "disciplined," and "polite."

Now, Italy took that theory, and exploded it into a million pieces.

The first thing I noticed was that he had a thing for asking personal questions. "Do you have any siblings?" "Are you in school?" "You look old enough to be in college, that's kinda weird for a high scholar" "I bet you're tired, Roddy really overworks people, huh?" "Do you have a girlfriend?" "_What_? A handsome guy like _you_, single? No way!" I didn't even know how to answer a number of his questions.

Then I noticed that he'd known me for less than an hour, and he was already acting like we were best friends. It took a lot just to keep him from pulling out an old photo album (after the photo album in Roderich's attic, I was _done_ with old pictures.) Even though I had insisted that I was fine, he never let my cup go empty.

"So, Danny," Italy said (he'd also came up with a new nickname for me). "Do you like working for Roddy?"

"Honestly?" I sighed. "It's exhausting. I have to do _everything_ for him; he's like a big baby"

"He means well," Italy smiled, giving me a light pat on the shoulder. "It's good for him to have a friend like you"

"Friend?" I nearly spat out my drink. "I'm not his _friend_, I'm his assistant."

"Does there have to be a difference?" Italy asked.

I think I was more shocked than I should've been, simply staring at Italy as if he'd suggesting that I fly to the moon and take a taxi back. My whole life had been a line drawn in permanent marker between work and my personal life. And something about being "friends" with your boss seemed like a bad idea. "Hey, Mr. Edelstein, I got two movie tickets, wanna go see _Singin' in the Rain _on Saturday?" No.

"_DANIEL_!"

In my train of thought, I toppled back on my chair and crashed into the floor, luckily shoulder-first. And I say 'luckily' because I didn't break anything, but my poor shoulder now hurt like hell. I rubbed it a couple of times, and then got my brain cells back in order enough to realize that my boss had called me.

"Yes, Mr. Edelstein?!" I called.

"Ooh, that looks like it hurt, lemme get you some ice," Italy said, rummaging through his icebox.

"I need your help!" he did sound pretty desperate.

"I'm coming!" I yelled, and then turned to Italy. "It's alright, Mr. Italy, I'll be fine"

He nodded quickly and then jumped on the couch to watch a Mickey Mouse cartoon. For a second I wanted to stick around a bit longer and watch it (I thought those little cartoons were the cutest thing to hit television,) but I knew Roderich would give me hell for it. I made my way up the stairs, where the attic door was already open.

"Yes, sir?" I asked, climbing up the stairs, and then I had to stop myself from laughing. Roderich had climbed onto a box, and holding out an umbrella for protection against Germany's dachshund, which had gotten comfortable on the floor. I bit my lower lip, and took a few steps forward. "Making friends, I see?"

"_Get rid of it_!" Roderich hissed, taking a step back so he was pressed against the wall.

I shook my head and then crouched down, whistling and clicking my tongue. "Here, boy!"

The little dog jumped up, running over and leaping onto my lap. I scratched the little dog behind the ears and then picked him up. He was an extremely cute dog, kind of hard to notice alongside Germany's big dogs.

"Sir, I didn't know you were scared of dogs," I said, and it took all of my self-control not to snuggle that little dog to death.

"I'm not _scared _of dogs, it's called cynophobia," Roderich snapped, getting down from his cardboard box.

"Which means that you're scared of dogs," I said, and my self-control diminished to a point where I gave that dachshund a big hug and I almost set the dog down, but Roderich screamed for me not to so I simply climbed down the attic stairs and allowed the dachshund his freedom.

"Thank you, Daniel," Roderich sighed in relief, climbing down off his box. "As long as you're here, would you mind helping me look?"

_Ah, there it is. The hidden interior motive_, I thought, but to the outside world, simply nodded and said. "No, sir"

Germany's attic wasn't as dusty as Roderich's, and that made sense, considering the fact that he was so much younger than all of the other Germanics. But because of his past partners (I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that his last few partners lived with him,) his attic was cramped with history that wasn't even his. In the many boxes I found an Italian uniform, a number of white flags, and I'd grown attached to a set of Japanese katanna.

"Daniel, don't break anything," Roderich called from the other side of the room.

"_Hai, sensei_!" I responded with a bow, lifting up my index and middle finger of my left hand and putting it to the palm of my right. And just to make it look cooler, I also kept the thumb of my right hand out. It wasn't every day that I just waste my time with fake ninja hand signals, but it's not every day you find a _freaking katana_, either.

"Daniel, stop playing and focus," Roderich commanded, but I thought I could just see what could be a smile. It's good to get even a small smile out of him every once in a while, just to let me know that he's at least still alive. But in nine years' time, I've never heard him laugh. Not once.

"Yes, sir," I set down the sword and rummaged through the boxes. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure he wasn't in a terrible mood before asking. "Sir, if I may ask, what's going on between Mr. Germany and Mr. Italy?"

"What? What do you mean by that?" Roderich asked, opening up a box and rummaging through some old war uniforms.

"It's just that he's still here, even though the war has been over for a few years now," I said, opening up a box to find a small army of letters. "And, uh . . . I've noticed that Mr. Italy holds his hand a lot, and Mr. Germany doesn't do anything to stop him. It's a bit peculiar, don't you think?"

"No," as expected, that question did nothing but annoy Roderich. "It's not. They're just business partners. Italy's helping Germany clean up after the war, that's why he's still hanging around here. There's no other reason"

"Oh—uh—ok," I dug through the old boxes with a bit more purpose now. "I was, uh—I was just wondering"

"Right"

When I opened up the fifth box, I was tempted to close it again. It was pictures, hundreds and hundreds of old pictures. And unlike Roderich, Germany just took all of his pictures and shoved them in a box somewhere, forgetting completely about the existence of photo albums. I rummaged a bit through the pictures, most of them being of Germany. What got to me was the question: _who took all of these pictures if Germany's in them?_

The next picture answered that.

It was of Germany, back when he was little with his hair in his eyes while reaching out for the camera (the look on his face said he didn't want his picture taken.) He was in the arms of a man who was tall, muscular, and albino. The albino man held him closely, laughing in a way that wasn't mocking, but simply happy. The kind of laughing people do when they're having the time of their life.

The more I looked through the photos from this point on, the more that man seemed to appear. But unlike his appearance in Roderich's photo album, it was clear what role he played in Germany's life: family. There were pictures of him carrying him on his shoulders to him with his arm around the neck of a rather annoyed blonde teenager as he offered a peace sign to the camera. To Germany, it seemed, this mysterious man was like a father, or a big brother.

He was family, and Germany didn't even remember him. But then again, neither did Roderich, and he was going pretty far with all of this for someone he couldn't even remember. No one remembered. All that history, all those memories, all that experience and all that love . . . . And no one even bothered to remember. It was actually kind of sad, even though the tragedy had befallen a man I'd never met.

"Mr. Edelstein," I called, grabbing a number of the pictures. "I think I found something"

* * *

I almost expected Germany to throw a tantrum when we showed him the pictures; to exclaim that we forged them and that they weren't real. However, much to my surprise, he simply picked up the pictures and held them near his face, slowly running his fingers over their surfaces. There was a look to his face that said he was reconsidering everything he ever knew about life.

"He was related to you," Roderich said, but Germany didn't answer.

". . . How could I forget my own brother . . .?" Germany muttered, his eyes wide and sad, and I really couldn't blame him. If you ask me, this was enough to make you wonder about a country's memories. He'd forgotten his own brother, what I wanted to know was: who else was he forgetting?

"Ludwig . . ." Italy sighed, patting him on the back (well, more rubbing, really.) When he decided that that wasn't working, he put his arms around his neck and gave him a tight hug, all which Germany didn't respond to at all.

Roderich looked at me, as if Germany's sadness was all my fault since I found the damn picture. He then looked across the table, where Germany sat motionless, and spoke. "Ludwig, you can come with us. We're going to try to figure out who this guy is"

Germany didn't say anything for another minute, and then (slowly, at first) shook his head. "No. I don't _want_ to know who he is. You're on your own"

"_What_? But look at the evidence!" Roderich slammed his palm on the photos. "This is proof that this guy meant something to you and you don't even c_are_?"

"Roderich, open your eyes!" Germany snapped. "Some bigger, outside force is making us forget about him. Some force of nature we can't explain doesn't want us to remember that this man even existed. Do you really want to mess with that? There's a _reason_ we don't remember him and I really don't want to figure out that reason!"

"But you'll never know who he is—!" Roderich started.

"I don't _want_ to know who he is!" Germany retorted, and then grabbed one of the pictures that were supposed to be used to get him to help us. "This is enough for me, Roderich! Now will you stop looking for a dead man and just go home?!"

Between their scowls and heavy breaths, I looked to my boss. For a mere second, I hoped that he would take Germany's advice. To give up on this pointless wild goose chase and just go home. I actually wanted to make his stupid teas at this point, to hear him play music as if it were his only reason on this Earth to live. But I only hoped this for a mere second, because I knew that his mind was made up. But, then again, there's nothing wrong with dreaming, is there?

"No," Roderich growled. "I'm going to find out who he is. I won't be able to sleep at night until I do"

"Roderich," Germany sighed. "If you continue like this, your heart's going to break. By the end of the road, when you find out who he is, it's going to shatter into a million pieces"

Roderich looked at him, then to the floor, and then stood up. "Come, Daniel; we're leaving"

I hurriedly followed him, but just before we exited the house, Italy grabbed me by the arm. "Danny, you're free to come back if you want to relax a bit. I know how hard he can be as a boss"

"I will," I responded with a smile, but before I could continue after Roderich, Italy tightened his grip on my arm and jerked me backwards. I let out a cry of surprise, and he whispered in my ear.

"Take care of him. Promise me you won't let his heart break"

It took me a second to realize what was going on. He'd used his cutesy exterior as a decoy, to make it look like he was just being his childish little self so that no one would question it when he made me fall behind. To state a loud question as a distraction so Roderich would just roll his eyes and call a cab. For someone who could supposedly do 'absolutely nothing,' he was actually pretty good. He wasn't the useless idiot everyone made him out to be. When he wanted to, I realized, he could be a genius.

"I promise," I whispered, and I felt Italy put a folded-up piece of paper in my palm. I enclosed my fist around it, feeling over the material with my thumb.

"Then take this," Italy hissed. "It'll help you" he then spun me around and gave me a big, suffocating hug. "_Arrivederci_, Danny! Come back soon!"

"Uh, yeah," I said, and my brain was going into hyper drive trying to understand all of this.

"Ooh, how do you say 'goodbye' in Austrian?" Italy asked, smiling.

I couldn't help being a bit annoyed by that question, considering it was something tourists and foreigners always asked me. "We speak _German_ in Austria, and it's _auf wiedersehen_"

"Really, you guys speak German? That's so funny!" Italy laughed at that for much longer than a grown man should. "Anyways, _auf we-something-or-another_, Danny!"

"Yeah, uh_, arrivederci_, Mr. Italy," I said, following Roderich into the cab. I had to go quickly, because I already knew that Italy would talk ongoing for hours if no one stopped him. But chatterbox or not, _man_ that guy was good.

"Well, that was a waste of our time," Roderich huffed. I could have easily retorted that this entire search was a waste of our time, but I decided to keep my mouth shut.

I sat for a few minutes before realizing that I still had Italy's gift in my hand. I unfolded the piece of paper, and I slowly realized that it was a postcard of some sort. The return address was one I didn't recognize, and it was addressed to Germany's house (though the actual letter was written to a name I didn't recognize.) Even though I didn't recognize the return address, the picture in the postcard was a clear one: the Eiffel Tower.

I looked on the back, where the letters were faded and dusty, and there wasn't even a signature. Rather, where the signature was supposed to be, there was a crudely drawn baby chick. This seemed to tell me what kind of a person this man was.

_**Dear West,**_

_**I've been in France for a few days now, and Francis and I've already pushed Antonio off a bridge. Not a big one, he just fell into the river. If you ask me, it was kind of hilarious. Antonio didn't think so, though.**_

I was wondering what kind of friends push other friends into a river before I realized that I only assumed that they were friends. Perhaps this man and Francis were friends and this Antonio person was their sworn enemy. I would toss my enemies off a bridge anyway, so why shouldn't they?

_**Before you ask, you little stick in the mud, no, I didn't apologize. Well, Francis did, and that's only because the water got Antonio's shirt all wet so that it was completely see-through. You should've heard him scream. But no, I didn't say 'sorry', that's what he gets for stealing my pretzels on the plane. I even told him that. **__**He **__**called**__** me a 'loco bebé del grito.' **__**I think that means we're ok.**_

My Spanish is far from impressive, as it's only what I've learned from tidbits in school and on TV. But I know enough to say that 'loco bebé del grito' is far from meaning 'it's ok.'

_**Dammit, I'm running out of space to write. Anyways, long story short, I miss you. Well, I don't miss you that much. I mean, come on, I'm in France for God's sake! I'm too busy having fun and being awesome. But I do miss you. Just not that much. But I know you miss me, me being me and all, so fear not little brother, I'll be home soon! Not that soon, though. I actually like being on vacation. **_

I couldn't decide if he was funny or just extremely self-centered.

_**Tell Italy I said 'hi,' but don't use that as an excuse to bang him. If he giggles like a little girl when I ask if you told him, I'll know you went against my commands. **_

_**With Love,**_

And there was the baby chick drawing.

I couldn't help but feel a little satisfied with myself. I _knew_ something was going on between Germany and Italy, I could just _tell_! And apparently, Germany's older brother could tell, too. That meant I wasn't just being paranoid or mistaking kindness for flirtation. This postcard was rock-solid proof that I was right. Man, when I show Roderich—!

Oh, yeah.

"Daniel?" Roderich asked, looking over from his seat. "What've you got there?"

I could just not give it to him. I could lie and say that it was a postcard from my parents, who missed me while I was gone. I could say my girlfriend sent it because she missed me. I could even say that I had a pen pal in France who likes to send me postcards instead of regular old letters. And after all, I did promise Italy I wasn't going to let Roderich's heart break.

But . . . something told me that never finding out who this man was would break Roderich's heart more than finding out his identity ever could. So rather than doing the smart thing, I trusted my gut and handed him the postcard.

"A lead"

* * *

_**Sorry this was so short, but I had to write it quickly because my family's been traveling so much. We only just got back from Brazil on Monday, and I'm still exhausted. **_

_**In Shades of Blue,**_

_**Ninja**_

_***BAGPIPES EXIT!***_


	5. Chapter 5

_**~ * ~ * Chapter Five ~ * ~ ***_

The train ride to France was another long, boring, and quiet one, as Roderich now had a new literary obsession, and by that, I mean he was re-reading his postcard for the billionth time. I began to tap my fingers on the side of my chair, and I didn't realize it, but I found myself glaring at him from my seat.

_He didn't say thank you._

It was petty, I know, but that little factoid was bothering me so much I couldn't even think straight. We wouldn't even be on our way to France if _I_ hadn't gotten that postcard. Sure, Italy's the one who gave it to me in the first place, but Roderich didn't know that. He was fully aware that I was the reason why this search was even continuing, and he still didn't thank me.

Italy had really got me thinking, not just with the note, but with what he told me before I left. Why couldn't Roderich be my boss and my friend? As of now, I was doing nothing but thinking of all the reasons why being 'friends' wasn't possible.

_He's literally a thousand years older than me. _

Screw a thousand years, I don't even _know_ how much older he is than me. If my memories of Austrian history class don't fail me, the country was founded sometime in the 1100's. I'm not going to stop and count the number of years between us, but the general knowledge was that he was hitting his 800th year and I was only 16. Even if he didn't look like someone in his 800s, he looked like an adult.

I shivered as I tried to imagine what people would think if I were to walk around with him in public. And I don't mean in this business attire like we've been doing, but in casual wear while laughing and talking as if everyone in all of Austria weren't judging us. My guess is that they would first think that he was my father. Then they would take a closer look at me and guess he was my older brother. Then they'd see how comfortably we acted together, and think that we were . . .

. . . Friends . . . ?

. . . Or . . . _lovers_?

I made a sound like cat with a hairball stuck in its throat. My hand covered my mouth, and I could just taste the vomit that I was trying so hard to keep back. Roderich looked up from his postcard and raised an eyebrow.

"Daniel, are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine," I said, giving a few calming hand signals. "I just . . . I just thought of something extremely unsettling, but I'm alright now"

"Unsettling?" Roderich asked.

"Disgusting, really," I shivered. "I—I'm fine, now, don't worry"

Roderich shrugged, and then turned his eyes back to his postcard and continued reading. It took me a another fifteen minutes or so to get my thoughts back together after thinking about that, and then my other reasons came to my mind.

_He's ungrateful. _

I've babysat Roderich for nine years, and not once has he ever said 'thank you.' He's never once thanked me for having to memorize his schedule and clean _every single one _of his many instruments until they shine. He's never appreciated the fact that just threw away my personal plans to go on this wild goose chase with him. Given, I _had_ to throw away my plans of seeing '_Singin' in the Rain_' with Roxy Bauer (which sucked because I'd been trying to get a chance to go out alone with her for _forever_) to go on this wild goose chase with him, but it would be nice if he apologized for being inconsiderate and thanked me for coming.

_He can't do anything by himself. _

As if having to do everything around the house for him wasn't enough, I've been doing everything on this trip. I got the information out of that hooker that was living in the old house, and I even defended him when she insulted him. Even then, did he say thank you? No; of course not.

Then I asked Ada all the questions that meant something, and I was the only one being _polite _in that house. Even after that, I had to stop Roderich and Germany from getting into a fist fight (in which Roderich would have most definitely _lost_.) I even got Germany to allow him to look in the attic. And how did he thank me? By frightening me so I fell on my ass and making me save him from Germany's wiener-dog, and then having me search through boxes with him. And even then, I didn't even get so much as a 'thanks.'

Pardon my language, but this _sucked_.

_And I'm going to be plain about this, he's no fun. _

Roderich's idea of fun was looking at stain glass windows and comparing two different Mozart symphonies. Not to mention after we were done window shopping, he'd take me to a Five-Star restaurant and make me feel awkward and poor because I don't even buy milkshakes if they cost more than 50¢ apiece. Then he pays for it without a second thought and makes me feel bad because I couldn't afford to pay half even if I wanted to.

I looked up in the midst of my thoughts, only to find out that Roderich's attention was still on his stupid postcard. Honestly, it wasn't such a deep message; it was just him telling his brother how he and his friends were goofing off in Paris. He didn't even sign his name. But Roderich acted like it held the secrets of the universe between those messy, sloppily-written lines.

I fell asleep halfway through the ride, and I woke up just in time to see Roderich about to slap me in the face with a book. I let out a cry of surprise and covered my face with my arms, scrambling backwards using the power of my legs.

"I'm up, I'm up!" I exclaimed. Roderich rolled his eyes, and then gestured for me to follow him.

I didn't think that any place in the world matched its postcard image, but much to my surprise, Paris did exactly that. At least, the Eiffel Tower did, with its clean tiles and freshly trimmed rosebushes. The entire place smelled like the perfume of flowers (roses, to be precise) and the place seemed to be swarming with couples. Normally it would make me feel nauseous, but here it made me feel warm and happy.

"Come, Daniel," Roderich grabbed me by the wrist and jerked me forward. Normally, I would roll my eyes behind his back and otherwise do nothing about it. But this time I remembered that people mind think we were an openly homosexual couple, and I yanked my hand back and stuck them both in my pockets, walking four or five steps behind him.

Roderich raised an eyebrow at me. "Is something the matter?"

In my peripheral vision, I could see a young couple staring at us. But while the boy looked straight-up disgusted, the girl was giggling and 'aww-ing' and swooning over our nonexistent relationship. I shivered and then offered Roderich a nervous smile.

"Nothing," I said. "I just . . . I can walk by myself"

Roderich shrugged and continued walking, while I took a few more steps back. Maybe if I walked far enough behind him, people would think we didn't even know each other. I offered a small wave to the couple, and the girl returned the wave excitedly, but the boy put an arm around his girlfriend and directed her away.

After a few minutes of walking, we ended up at a white mansion in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. It had tall, polished windows and a stained glass design over its front door. There were trimmed iris bushes of every color (though primly red, white, and blue) surrounding the perimeter of the house, while climbing roses stuck to the walls in vines. A number of expensive cars were parked in the garage, while not a single speck of dirt seemed to be anywhere in sight. The grass was the greenest I'd ever seen, and I could see a number of trees in the backyard with a wooden swing hanging from one of its branches.

"How nice," I said with a sigh.

"If only its owner was just as nice," Roderich muttered, and then knocked on the door. There was silence for much too long. If that was me, I'd rush to the door as fast as I could so that Roderich wouldn't yell at me. I can only imagine how the master of the house was going to react on how long this guy was taking.

Roderich looked confused, and then knocked again.

"_J'arrive_!" A voice called, and it sounded like that of a boy around my age. The door opened to show a boy in his teens, wearing a white button-up shirt and what I think were designer pants, but I can't be too sure. He had perfectly styled blonde hair with bangs that swept over his forehead and big blue eyes. Judging by his posture and his tone of voice, my guess is that he had a room full of women's underwear back at his house, for when they came attached to the love letters he received.

He looked me up and down, made a face at my clothing, and then looked up and smiled at me as if nothing happened. "_Bonsoir, puis-je vous aider_?"

Roderich looked at me, and then nudged me in the shoulder as an indicator that I was the one to be doing the talking. I sighed, and then made sure to speak slowly. "Do you speak German?"

He gave me a confused look. "_Que_?"

"German—Ger-Man," I said, sounding out everything as if I were talking to a child. "Do you speak German?"

"_Je ne peux pas vous comprendre_! _Que voulez-vous_?" The boy threw up his arms in confusion, giving me a look of both distress and annoyance.

"See if he speaks English," Roderich suggest. I sighed in annoyance; English was a last-resort language for me. I was often told that German and English were extremely similar languages, but while I found English easy to learn, I didn't see how it was in any way similar to Germany. You see, German made _sense_, while English was a random combination of odd-sounding words and grammatical rules that made me want to pull my hair out.

"Do you speak English?" I asked.

The boy shrugged. By the look on his face, his thoughts on speaking English were similar to mine. "A bit; but I'm not exactly fluent. Now, how can I help you?"

"Can we see—?" I turned to Roderich, and asked in German. "Who're we looking for?"

"France," he responded, and I returned my attention back to the boy. "Can we speak to France?"

"Ah, _Monsieur_ _Bonnefoy_, _oui_," the boy nodded and then turned and shouted. "_Monsieur Bonnefoy, deux ou trois allemands surnaturels doivent ici vous voir_!"

"_Allemands surnaturels ? Si c'est l'Allemagne, lui dire que je ne suis pas ici!_ " A voice called from what could be the other side of the house.

"Are either of you named Germany?" the boy asked, and his attention was more concerned on his nails than us.

"No, my name is Daniel Feiersinger, and this is my boss, Mr. Austria," I explained, making gestured to myself and to Roderich.

"_Ils disent que leurs noms sont Daniel et l'Autriche_!" the boy called, and there was the loud sound of footsteps and a blonde man with a bit of stubble around his chin rushed down the stairs. I don't usually notice this kind of stuff, but you'd notice this first too if you were me: his hair was gorgeous. And I mean pretty enough to be a girl's. Not to mention he seemed to already know this, by the way he tossed it over his shoulder and ran his hands through it. He gave Roderich one of the most suggestive winks I've ever seen, and the French boy took a step back and smirked at me. If he meant this out of my boss's ridicule or because he himself was flirting with me, I don't know.

"Austria," this man, France, I think, said his name as if it was sweet to the taste. "What a pleasant surprise seeing you here. Have you finally accepted your undeniable love and sexual desire for me?"

That comment made me smile, and I stepped aside, nudging Roderich so that he'd have to be the one to answer that question. "Yeah, Mr. Edelstein, have you?"

"No," Roderich said plainly, giving me the 'look-of-utter-disappointment' at me. "I just have a few questions for you about someone that I think you may have known. Do you mind?"

"Anything for _you_, dear!" France exclaimed, gesturing him to enter the house. Roderich grabbed me by the arm and forced me to enter when I offered to wait outside.

"Now, you and I can talk in the kitchen," France said, grabbing onto Roderich's arm and clinging onto him. "Your son and Antoine can hang out in the living room and watch TV"

"He's not my son," Roderich said around the same time that I said: "I'm not his son." It's easy to say that both of us looked extremely annoyed with being confused for family by two people in two days. France looked quite surprised by that piece of information.

"But you look so much alike!" France exclaimed, grabbing me by the shoulders (I squirmed uncomfortably under his grasp) and looking me up and down. "And he's got Hungary's eyes! Are you sure he isn't your son and that you and Hungary are sharing custody over him?"

"No, France, I'm sure I'd remember something like that," Roderich narrowed his eyes. "Can't we talk in the living room? I'm sure Daniel won't mind"

"Nonsense, they're boys! They probably want to watch some TV or some—!" France's eyes got wide, and then, fast as lighting, he turned to the boy and exclaimed. "Antoine, that new episode of _I Love Lucy_ comes out today!" he then turned to Roderich. "See? He _needs_ the TV, we can talk in the kitchen," as France and Roderich walked into the kitchen, France let out a desperate shout of "Tell me what happens!" before the door slammed.

"I love this show," Antoine said as he got comfortable on the couch, beckoning for me to join him. "Have you ever seen it?"

"We don't have a TV in my house, and Roderich doesn't let me watch the one at his place, so no," I said, taking a seat beside him. "What's it about?"

"You've never watched TV? Boy, you've been missing out on a _lot_," Antoine said, taking a sip of soda and flicking on the TV, where the theme song to the show was playing. "Well, it's about this girl named Lucy and her husband, Ricky. And Lucy's really crazy and funny and she always makes trouble by trying to make it big in . . . how do you say, _industrie du spectacle_?"

"I don't know how to say that," I admitted, and Antoine snapped his fingers trying to remember.

"Show business!" Antoine's eyes lit up in realization. "That's what it is in English; show business!"

"Oh, ok," I shrugged. "Whatever. That show sounds kinda . . . stupid, though"

"It's not!" Antoine grabbed my hands and jerked me forward. "I swear; it's a really funny show. Just give it a try, maybe you'll like it"

Something told me he wasn't only talking about the show, but I gave a nod and retracted my hands. "So, are you related to Mr. France?"

"What? No, I'm his personal assistant," Antoine said, his eyes on the TV.

"And he lets you sit around and drink his soda and watch TV?" I asked; my eyes huge.

"Yeah, he's very nice," he glanced at me. "I'll be honest; he's like a big brother to me."

"You're . . . friends?" I think the shock was seeping through my voice. "With _him_?"

Antoine narrowed his eyes at me and scowled. "Is there something _wrong_ with that?"

I knew I offended him, but I couldn't think of a reason to why he'd take that the wrong way. Everyone knew what was wrong with France, and it was a lot worse than the stuff I'd heard about Roderich. And in the end, France was nothing but Antoine's boss. What did it matter to him if I thought it was ridiculous to be friends with France?

"Well, no, I suppose not," I shrugged.

"No, really," Antoine narrowed his eyes at me. "I want to hear your reason"

"It's just that . . ." I gritted my teeth, twiddling my thumbs. "He's your _boss_ and all . . ."

"Francis isn't a—!" Antoine exclaimed, and then stopped himself. "My boss? That's what your reason is?"

"Yeah, doesn't that seem a bit awkward?" I asked.

"Oh, uh, I don't mind," Antoine shrugged, and then laughed. I gave him an odd look, but it wasn't exactly a little giggle-session, it turned into full-out laughter.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"Nothing," Antoine shook his head, and then smiled at me. "I've just had to defend him ever since I started working for him. Especially when I tell people that I consider him a friend. It's always the same claim: 'you shouldn't trust that guy, he's a—!'"

"—rapist?" I suggested. Antoine looked at me with surprised eyes.

"You know about that?" Antoine asked.

"_Everyone_ knows about that," I answered.

"Even in Austria?"

"Sadly, yes"

A couple of years ago, there was a big fiasco in the U.N. Considering I was four years old when it happened, I don't know the details, but everyone knows the general happening. France apparently found a way to have sex with nearly everyone's assistant, and that's including the ones who were males. I know that's why Roderich fired his last personal assistant, because he was included in that entire scandal (yes, _he_.) That whole drama is the reason why I'm not allowed at the world meetings.

One of them, I think it was England's assistant, freaked out when she got asked why she did it. Right before having an emotional breakdown, she exclaimed that it was sexual assault and rape and that she didn't mean to do it. I think other people thought they could keep their jobs by saying that it was sexual assault, but everyone involved was fired, anyways.

My mom says that every newspaper, magazine and tabloid had that for a headline that day. Even the news channels would only talk about the giant France scandal, and it was all the people would talk about. I don't know about any place else, but it was huge in Austria. I can only imagine how big it was in France.

"You . . . don't believe that, do you?" Antoine asked.

"No," I said, rolling my eyes. "The British girl panicked and everyone else just rode on the story to save their jobs. I didn't hear them screaming about rape when they got fired"

"_Thank you_!" Antoine exclaimed. "Someone gets it! I think it's so obvious that it was all a scam, but no one believes me!"

"They just want something to talk about," I said with a shrug, putting my attention on the TV. "Give it a few more years; it'll blow over"

Antoine looked me over and then smiled. "Yeah . . . you really get it," he leaned a bit closer to me, putting his hand over mine. My eyes were the size of dinner plates, I can tell you that. "I've never met anyone like you, Daniel Feiersinger"

"Y-yeah, neither have I," I said, scooting back on the couch. I think that only gave Antoine an opening to move closer.

"So, what's bringing you guys over here?" he smiled at me, winking at me.

"We're looking for someone," I looked around a bit and concluded that there was no escape. "A guy that's been showing up in all of Roderich's pictures"

"Wait," he sat back, his eyes wide. "Is it an albino guy that's always got a chick flying around him? And he's always drinking beer? Possibly related to—?"

"—Germany," I finished for him, sitting up straighter. "How did you know that?"

Antoine swallowed, and then grabbed me by the wrist. "Come on, I've got something to show you"

* * *

_**Sorry this was late, I was kind of busy. It's technically a Wednesday . . . wait, no, midnight. It's only a day late, so don't be mad at me. **_

_**In Shades of Blue,**_

_**Ninja **_

_***BAGPIPES EXIT!***_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Wednesday, July 31**__**st**__**—12:39, Eastern Standard Time.**_

_**I'm right on time today ;) **_

_**~ * ~ * Chapter Six ~ * ~ ***_

I've never been one for breaking the rules. My friends always tell me that I need to "live a little," but the risk never seemed worth it. I have good grades, a stable job, good money, and a good enough reputation at school. Why throw all of that away just so I could write '_Daniel F. wuz here_!" on a wall somewhere?

Not to mention that, in reality, Roderich's rules are very hard to break with a formidable excuse. He says things simply, "don't move." Try explaining why you broke that rule without sounding like a delusional idiot, "well, sir, the house caught on fire and I got up to run away from it. Oh, and it's not on fire anymore because I, uh, put the fire out . . .?" I've learned my lesson enough times: it's better to just do as he says.

Over and over again, I kept remembering that Roderich had made my position on this trip very clear. I was here to take notes and sit there quietly; I wasn't supposed to actually get involved. Sure, I was allowed to find stuff and give it to him. But I wasn't to participate in the search on my own.

Antoine apparently had a similar motive to Roderich, but his plans were different from mine. I'd mentioned that this was a bad idea a billion times, I'd squirmed uncomfortably, I'd jerked my hand back, but he'd only grab it again. I'd tried everything except saying 'no,' as I've always had a hard time doing that. I guess I'm just used to having to say 'yes, sir,' all the time.

He opened the door to the third bedroom on the left side of the fourth floor, one that had his name written on it. I raised an eyebrow. "You get your own room?"

"I work late sometimes," Antoine shrugged. "And Francis says I can stay here when I go to college"

"He wants you to go to college?" I asked. Roderich cared little to nothing about my future. He planned to have me work for him as long as I could, and if I were to quit, that would be my problem.

"Yeah, I want to work in film," Antoine shrugged. "Making films, I mean. But I'm also into things like advertising and modeling, anything that gets people famous; entertainment, the works. Francis says he'll recommend me for a bunch of stuff"

"He really cares about you, huh?" I sighed, and I couldn't help myself but to smile a little.

Antoine nodded. "He says he wants to keep me around here for a long time, so even if I do get far, I'm gonna come back and visit him"

"That wouldn't surprise me, really," I said. "You guys are such . . . I mean, you guys are _friends_. You just sit around and laugh and watch TV and drink soda. It wouldn't really surprise me if you guys went out for milkshakes all the time"

"Francis doesn't drink milkshakes, he says they've got too many calories in them," Antoine said with a shrug. "But we went to see _Singin' in the Rain_ last week"

"I've been trying to see that movie for _forever_, how was it?" I exclaimed.

"It was clever, but a little too musical for my taste"

"Well, it's a musical"

"Daniel, has anyone ever told you that you're cute when you think you're being smart?"

Antoine rummaged through his drawers, and on the third one, he moved away a pile of expensive shirts and pulled out a dark blue box. It wasn't really anything fancy; square in shape and about the size and width of a shoebox. But due to its clothed interior, I doubt it was just given to him free with the purchase of a pair of loafers. When he handed it to me, it felt light, but I did hear something when I shook it around.

When he realized that I didn't know what to do with it, Antoine took the box from me, and then sat down and dumped its contents onto the floor. I got down on my knees and sat across from him, rummaging lightly through the pile of junk.

It didn't seem like anything to make a historian's eyes widen, as I said before: it was mainly just a bunch of worthless _junk_. There were a number of pictures, a couple of coins, newspaper clippings with wording that had been circled and highlighted multiple times. I looked up at Antoine, who was watching my actions as if he was awaiting my reaction.

"What is all of this?" I asked.

"Research," he answered, and then seemed to get comfortable on his place on the floor. I copied his actions. "Let me tell you the full story, Danny. You better get comfortable; it's a pretty long story"

I nodded, and then indicated for him to go on.

"So back in '47, I woke up one day and it was just a good and normal morning," Antoine played around with the papers and items in from of him. "By 7:00, Francis and I had breakfast, I started the laundry, bought the groceries, put the groceries away, finished the first load of laundry, folded and put away the clothes, started the second load of laundry, and by that time it was already around 11:30. Since there was nothing left to do while the clothes were washing, I got really bored really fast. And because there wasn't anything good on TV, I decided to clean around the house a little bit.

"It wasn't like I was in the attic or anything; I was just dusting up around the house. Then I came across a set of photos that were on one of the shelves in the hallway. While dusting off one of them, I realized that I didn't recognize one of the men in the photo. It was a black-and-white photo of three grown men: Francis, his friend Antonio, and another albino guy that I didn't recognize. The three of them looked like they were friends, so I took the photo and went to find Francis.

"When I found him, I showed him the photo and asked who the man was. At first he got confused and accused me of trying to trick him. When he figured out that I was serious, he told me he didn't know who the man was and told me to forget about it. 'It's probably someone from a long time ago,' he told me. 'My memories get shaky when I haven't seen the person in a long time.'

"I tried to forget about it, honest, but I was too curious. Especially when I kept cleaning around and just saw him more and more often. So I decided to do a little bit of investigating, I asked around for a bit. I found out that he used to be a country; he was probably friends with Francis and Antonio, and he was possibly related to Germany. I found all this crap, but I didn't find anything else. The entire investigation turned into a toilet," he took in a breath, and then sighed. "But, since you guys are looking, you're free to look through what I found"

I'd never heard anyone say that something 'turned into a toilet,' but I still had a pretty good idea of what he meant by that. I looked through the pictures, finding that most of them were of the mysterious man with either Germany, France, this 'Antonio' fellow, or Roderich. I picked up the coin, tried to figure out its currency with no luck, and then flipped it over to read what was on the back.

"The back of that coin is in German," Antoine said, moving closer to where I sat. "Can you read it?"

"I'm Austrian, aren't I?" I raised an eyebrow at him. "It says 'one Reichsthaler.'"

"Where's that from?" Antoine asked.

"No idea" I responded, putting the coin back in the pile. All of the newspaper clippings were back from the war, and there he was again, dressed like a soldier in one of the photos. But I couldn't see a name.

"By the way," I asked. "Where'd you get this box?"

"Do you like it?" Antoine glowed with pride. "Well, to be honest, I actually found it in _his_ house, if you know what I mean. It was pretty and I didn't know what use a box was to him, so I figured I could just take it"

"That's stealing, Antoine," I narrowed my eyes.

"He's dead, so what does it matter?" Antoine scoffed, rolling his eyes. Plus, that box's special. It's label says 'Prussian Blue.' Nothing says that anymore, even Crayola crayons are labeled 'Midnight Blue.'"

While digging through the pile, I found something at the bottom. It looked like an envelope, but it didn't have a stamp or return address. The envelope was sealed tight with a broken wax seal (my guess is that Antoine already opened it,) as if someone had gone out of their way to make sure no one would accidentally open it. It was covered in smudges of ink and dust, which told me that it was untouched, dirty to begin with, and was only getting dirtier by the years.

Written across the front of the envelope in thick, black ink were the words:

_**DANNY CHISTIAN **_

My hands were shaking, clutching the envelope with such a force that it's worn and rounded edges were giving me paper cuts. "Where did you find this?"

"When I went to his house in Berlin," Antoine said with a shrug, as if the envelope was something that he took just because he could. "It wasn't exactly hidden; it was in this box, which was just sitting on his bed. It doesn't tell you anything about him, so it's pretty much worthless. Why?"

I gulped. "Because that's my name: Daniel Christian"

Antoine turned and looked at me with wide eyes. "Are you sure that it means you? After all, it says 'Danny' instead of 'Daniel.'"

"That's the thing," I could feel the sweat rolling down my neck. "When I was little, there were about five or six 'Daniel's in my class. And since we couldn't all go around with the same names, we had to give each other nicknames. Mine was 'Danny Christian.'" I stared at that envelope as it was making me rethink everything I knew about my life. "But nobody's called me that since I was eleven years old"

Neither of us seemed to have anything to say about that, so I opened up the envelope. Much to my surprise, it didn't contain a letter, but a movie ticket. Admit one for _A Double Life_. In a similar case to my old nickname, I haven't seen that movie since I was eleven years old. I remember loving that movie to death. But I also remember seeing it alone.

Other than the movie ticket, the envelope was empty. But written across the back of the letter in black ink were the words:

_**KÖNIGSBERG CASTLE **_

"Does this mean anything to you?" Antoine asked.

I shook my head. "No"

Antoine looked at me, his eyes filled with wonder. "Why would he leave you something that meant absolutely nothing to you?"

"Maybe it's not meant for me," I said with a shrug, closing the envelope. "I mean, it's not like 'Daniel' is an unpopular name. Maybe he knew someone who actually went by 'Danny Christian.' This is probably just a big misunderstanding"

I wasn't feeling that though. I knew the chance of this being a real and true message for me wasn't high, like I said; this could just be a huge coincidence. But I could just feel it in my bones. That kind of feeling you get when you wear tennis shoes without socks. It isn't such a big change, but it's one that you can feel, when you know that something is missing. But you're scared because the slightest change, the slightest rash movement of your feet, could put blisters on your ankles.

"This seems like too big of a coincidence to be a misunderstanding," Antoine said, looking me up and down. "You're on this search for him with Roderich, and then you find a letter addressed to you?"

"But . . . I didn't know him!" I exclaimed, using every bit of my brain trying to find a way for this to make sense. "He was one of Roderich's friends!"

"Daniel . . ." Antoine bit his lower lip. "You know, Germany was his brother and Germany still forgot about him. Francis was his friend and he still forgot about him. Roderich is this dedicated to finding out who he is, even when he forgot about him in the first place"

"I don't get it," I raised an eyebrow. "What're you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that maybe you knew him, too," Antoine said. "But like everyone else, you just forgot about him"

* * *

I think anyone else would think that I'd been traumatized. I didn't blink or speak, I stared ahead blankly at nothing, and I moved robotically. Even when Antoine grabbed both my hands, got a little too close to my face for comfort, and said "Come back soon and visit me, Danny, I know that we'll just be _best friends_," my response was a stiff nod and a "yeah, sure," before walking away.

Roderich's questionnaire with Francis turned out to be useless, apparently, Francis knew absolutely nothing about the man and why he wanted to come to Paris. That made some sense to me, though. So far it seemed to be one lead per location, and I got it.

How was I supposed to tell him? He wasn't going to take that well. That this man was writing letters to _me_ and giving _me_ specific locations to go to instead of him on a search that Roderich was directing. If he didn't fire me, he would be extremely mad at me for the rest of my living life.

The train ride was awkward to begin with, and the entire ride remained to be silent. Roderich didn't have a postcard or a letter to read over obsessively, so he sat silently while staring out the window. I was actually tempted to pull out the envelope and read its contents over and over again like Roderich used to do, but I knew better. Even though that would probably make me feel a little bit better, it wasn't going to fix anything and it would only bring attention to me.

What was I supposed to do? I wasn't a rich guy with a load of free time, like Roderich. The only money I had was my weekly salary, and I had school, work, and homework. I couldn't just drop everything to go look for a man because of a movie ticket with my old nickname on it. It was such a stupid reason to waste my time.

But . . . Antoine did have a point. This seemed like too much of a coincidence to be a total misunderstanding. And I knew it was going to keep bothering me until I knew exactly what was going on.

"Mr. Edelstein," I asked, breaking the silence. "Can I have the day off tomorrow?"

"Day off?" Roderich looked over from his place at the window, raising an eyebrow at me. "What for?"

"A family tradition of mine, I didn't ask you before because you seemed distracted," I said. "But since the search is over, I doubt you'll need my help much anymore"

Roderich thought for a moment, and then shrugged. "Fine, but without pay"

* * *

My plan was a bit too complex for something as simple as a movie ticket. I'd call in sick at school, and then tell my parents that I had a school field trip to Paris. If my mom had to call anyone, I'd just give her Antoine's number. I'd called him earlier in the morning and ask him to put up an excuse if my parents called. It'd cost one-fourth of last year's salary, but I'd get my train ticket at the station, get my shit done, and then come home without anybody ever knowing a thing.

That morning was filled with phone calls. I'd called my principle using my best impersonation of my father, with the classic and straight-forward excuse of: "Daniel's sick today, he won't be able to make it to school." Somehow, the school staff bought it. Trick the school principle: check.

I then called Antoine, as he'd given me his number before we left France. When he first answered, he sounded grouchy and sleepy, and his language was slurred.

"_Que voulez-vous?_" Antoine snapped.

"Hello? Antoine?" I asked.

Antoine paused. "Yeah, and who is this? Why the fuck are you calling so early, anyway?"

"It's me, Daniel," I said, and I could hear the sound of footsteps and undoubtedly the sound of someone smoothening down their hair.

"D-Danny! I didn't know it w-was you!" Antoine sounded flustered. "How are you?"

"I'm good," I took in a breath. "Listen, Antoine, I need a favor"

"_Anything_ for you," not the answer I wanted, but sufficient.

"Thanks. Listen, you're the only one who knows about the movie ticket," I looked around to make sure my mom wasn't coming to check up on me. "I'm going to Königsberg Castle to see what the fuss was all about. But no one can know about that, ok? Not even France"

"Right," Antoine sounded confused, and rightly so. "Where does the favor part come in?"

"Ok, so I told the school I was sick and I'm going to tell my mom that we have a field trip to Paris," I explained. "Now, my mom doesn't speak English but she's nearly fluent in French. This might be a little much, but if she calls, can you act like you're museum staff or something? Tell her you saw me and everything. I think she might find it suspicious that she didn't pay or hear about any field trip"

"This sounds far-fetched, dangerous, and slightly crazy," Antoine then giggled. "Oh, you're _bad_, Danny! This is so exciting!"

"Yeah, yeah, cool; so you'll do it?" I asked, biting my lower lip.

"Sure, why not? It's not like it's going to be any trouble" Antoine said.

"Oh, thank you so much!" I exclaimed. "Oh, uh, I've gotta go now, bye!"

"_Je vous aime, au revoir_!" he exclaimed, and then hung up quickly. To this day I'm not sure what he said, but I figured it didn't matter. Get Antoine's backup: check.

"_Mutti_!" I exclaimed, running down the stairs. "Can I ask you something?"

"Daniel?" my mom was a woman well in her forties, who aged well with the exception of a couple of gray strands in her dark hair. She had big brown eyes, which my younger sister got from her. She was a hardworking woman who, like me, worked for the Government. She was partially the reason why I was ever hired in the first place, as she recommended me six or seven times to Roderich. "What is it?"

"My class is having a field trip to the history museum in Paris," I said. "It's full-paid, since we're an honors class. I won't be back 'till later, maybe even tomorrow morning, ok?"

"A field trip?" she gave me a confused look. "Without a permission slip or anything?"

"I already asked you to sigh the permission slip, remember?" I hope to God that my acting skills are believable. "Last month? Don't tell me you forgot _again_?"

My mom bit her lip and ran her hands through her hair. My mom was usually so scatterbrained about work and her three kids that she usually forgot about things, from signing permission slips to picking up Lukas from soccer practice.

"No—No, I remember!" she kissed my forehead, and then gave me a pat on the shoulder. "Have fun, ok?"

"Thanks, mom," I muttered. Trick my mom into letting me go to another country: check.

Get crushed by the guilt: check.

* * *

Vienna to what is now Kaliningrad is a five-hour train ride, one I easily sat through by a combination of completing my homework and getting my school reading done. But I won't pretend like the guilt wasn't eating me alive. I lied to my boss, I lied to my school, and I lied to my own mother straight to her face. That was the part that was killing me the most, the look of complete trust in her eyes. Trust that I didn't deserve.

Kaliningrad is in Russia, as I found out when I got to the train station. Kaliningrad Oblast is a small piece of land in between Lithuania, Poland, and Belarus. It used to be Königsberg, but when Russia took the land they renamed it Kaliningrad. Their prime language was Russian, of course, so I spent a good part of the ride learning enough Russian to survive.

When the train arrived, I simply picked up a map and made my way to the castle. It's not like it was hard, though, Königsberg Castle could easily be seen from just about anywhere around it. It was a castle, after all. The castle had few towers and a blue, picket roof with white bricks and grand doors. To be honest, it was nothing compared to some of the German castles, or the British ones. But it was still—

"Beautiful, huh?"

I turned, and found myself looking at someone's chest. I had to look up to look his man in the face, as he was a number of feet taller than me. He had violet colored eyes, similar to Roderich's, but his didn't seem as serious. He had light-colored messy hair, but it made him look cute rather than cool or intimidating, and something told me that's what he wanted. However, the lower half of his face was covered in a scarf, and he wore a large jacket even though it wasn't really cold outside.

"Y-yeah," I said, turning to him. "How did you know I spoke English?"

"You look like a tourist, but you're dressed like a student," he said with a smile. "I figured you'd speak English. Are you here with your class?"

"No, I'm on my own," I shrugged. "I just wanted to see this place," I eyed his outfit. "Why're you dressed so warmly? We're in April"

"We're I come from, it's very cold," he responded.

"Where're you from?" I asked.

"Moscow," he answered, and then gave me yet another smile. "Russia"

"Oh," I said, returning my gaze to the castle. I expected him to walk away and returned to his normal life, but he didn't move. He just kept standing there next to me, staring at the castle alongside of me. I let out a breath, my eyes darting over to him, and I could feel the sweat running down my neck. Something told me that I should be afraid of this guy. Very, _very _afraid.

"I'm Daniel," I said a little too rapidly.

"I'm Ivan," he gave me a confused look. "Shouldn't you be in school?"

"Oh—uh—I'm from Vienna, s-so we had a holiday today," I gave a nervous smile. "City-wide Viennese holidays, you know, the works"

"Right," something told me Ivan didn't completely believe me, but he looked like he didn't care about to question me further.

"Why're you here?" I asked.

"Just an escape, I guess," Ivan sighed. "I'm starting to hate my job. Sometimes I just wish I could quit"

"Then why won't you?" I asked, turning to him. "If you hate it so much"

"My family," he shrugged.

"Oh, I get it," I turned back to the castle. "I can't quit my job because of my family, too"

"Oh?" Ivan gave me a confused look. "Who do you work for?"

When my situation was this risky, and since it took so much planning and lying to get here in the first place, I figured giving him the whole truth wasn't a good idea. "Oh, I, uh, I work for the government. I started working when I was younger because my mom was set on me working early, for the experience. When I started working, I hated it. I'm a personal assistant, you see, that's like a fancy name for 'secretary.' Anyways, I had it all planned out. I was going to tell my family that I was done working for him, then I was going to march back other there, make a big scene about how much of a jerk he was to me when all I did was help him, and then quit"

"What stopped you?" Ivan asked.

"My family," I couldn't help but smile a little bit. If I'd gone through with my whole quitting idea, I wouldn't even be here in the first place. "I have two younger siblings, and both of them thought it was the coolest thing ever that I was working for someone so high in the Austrian government. They thought I would be like some kind of super-spy later on. And both my parents were so proud of me. They actually bought me a cake, for making it an entire week. I couldn't bring myself to telling them I was planning on quitting, so I didn't."

"Do you regret it?" Ivan's voice sounded thoughtful, as if he was considering something he believed to be extremely important. "Not quitting, I mean"

"Honestly?" I laughed a little. "Not really. My boss isn't bad, really, just complicated. And if I can handle working for him, I know I can handle anything. I guess all I really had to do was wait a little bit. You never know if things can get better if you never try"

"I see," he patted me on the back with enough force to crush ribs; though I doubt he actually intended to hurt me. "You're a good kid, Dan"

"Yeah," I rubbed my back. "Thanks. Hey, is Königsberg Castle open for tours? I'd like to get inside"

"Sadly, no," Ivan shrugged. "They're renovating it for tourists"

"Damn," I muttered under my breath, but before I could give up and walk away, Ivan grabbed me by the shoulders and whispered in my ear.

"But I bet I could easily sneak you in"

* * *

_**The good news is: the next chapter will be up either tonight or tomorrow morning. Considering I've already got it written, and all. But the bad news is: the chapters after that are going to be delayed. I'm going on a trip, you see, and I'll only have my phone with me, since we're going el-natural. Even then, the chapters would be poorly edited and wouldn't be very long. So, in short, I'm going to be MIA for a while. Sorry. **_

_**In Shades of Blue,**_

_**Ninja **_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Warning: this chapter is super-long. **_

_**~ * ~ * Chapter Seven ~* ~ * **_

Ivan and I dashed behind the house, but it's not like the security was so high, anyways. I'd met up with him at eight or so o'clock at night, when everyone working there had already left for the night.

Ivan smiled, taking out a ring of keys from one of his giant pockets. He put the key in the lock, turning it a couple of times before it clicked and opened. He bowed as he offered the door, but I simply stared at him, flabbergasted.

"You had a _key_?" I snapped. "How exactly is this sneaking in?"

"Well, they didn't know I'd use the key," Ivan had the most innocent smile I've ever seen on a grown man's face. "So it's sneaking in. Exciting, _da_?"

"Very," I scoffed, entering the house. I turned when I didn't see him follow me inside. "You're not coming?"

"This is your personal business," Ivan said. "I'll leave you alone for this. But I'll wait for you for when you leave, so I can lock the door. No one will ever know that you were here"

I nodded. "Thanks"

I walked up the stairs, and I had to remind myself that no one besides Ivan and myself were here multiple times. But still, it didn't really help that the stairs creaked when you stepped on them or that I coughed when dust flew into my mouth. Nearly everything had a white sheet over them, but nearly every door was unlocked. I was half-expecting to find a body outline in chalk or to find a monster sucking the blood out of a student while opening those doors.

When I checked the fourth door, I realized that I hadn't thought to ask Ivan why he had a key to the backdoor of Königsberg Castle. But I forgot about that entirely when I opened my fifth door, the master bedroom.

Sitting on the bed was a dark blue—no, Prussian blue—box that looked identical to the one Antoine had. The box that contained the envelope with my name on it, the envelope that contained that stupid movie ticket and the name of this stupid castle.

I slowly made my way over to the box, lightly running my hands over its surface, just to make sure that it was real and that this wasn't a dream. I carefully opened the box, and just as it had been when Antoine found his box, there was nothing but a single envelope in it.

No stamp, no address, no return address. All that was written were the words:

_**DANIEL CHRISTIAN FEIERSINGER**_

My heart was thundering my ears; my breathing came out as rasps from my throat. He meant this to be for me. I could feel it in my gut, in my heart, in my soul, even in my brain. Carefully, my fingers trembling, I broke the seal and opened the envelope.

This time, there was letter inside of it.

_Dear Daniel,_

_You probably don't remember me, but that's ok. I'm getting kind of used to it._

My eyes widened, my mouth slowly dropping open. Of course, the idea of Roderich not remembering someone that was in his own photos was unsettling. But I suspected that it was his own problem, that I'd never met the man. I didn't know him because we'd never talked, interacted, or done anything else of the sort.

However, it can change a theory or two when the man starts writing letters to you.

_People are already starting to forget me. Its little things that they don't think I'll notice. America forgot to call my name when he was making sure everyone was here for the world meeting. I snapped at Russia and he looked at me like I was some crazy stranger. Even Germany is a little confused when I tell him "good morning" when getting my coffee. They're forgetting who I am. And by the time you read this letter, it'll probably be like I never even existed in the first place._

I almost wanted to stop reading, only because all of this sounded incredibly heartbreaking. He knew he was dying, and to top that off, he knew that everyone he loved was forgetting about him. Even his own brother was having a hard time remembering who he was.

_And the other day, at the meeting, the countries began discussing who was going to get my land. I was right there. And they all acted like I was already dead._

_It's tearing me apart._

I doubted that anyone had done it on purpose; after all, some giant force of nature was forcing them to forget him. But the fact that they did it in any form was enough to make me angry. He was already sad. He was getting lonely. Hell, he was _dying_, and that's how you treat him?

_I bet you just think that I'm just one of Roderich's old friends. Maybe you dusted off a couple of pictures and found one with a weird-ass albino guy smirking next to your boss. Maybe you shrugged off that weird feeling of déjà vu and just handed the picture to Roderich. Maybe you'll care enough to ask who the man is, and no doubt, Roderich won't know either. Maybe you'll just throw the picture away. Maybe you're not even concerned about who I am. Maybe you'll never even read this letter._

He really thought of every possibility.

_But I don't want to take that chance. I want for at least one person to remember who I was. But in case you don't remember me, let me explain it all to you._

_We were friends._

Friends? I bit my lower lip in concentration, gripping the letter while tempted to rip it into a thousand little pieces. I wasn't sure I wanted to know why he wanted it to be _me_ who remembered him, and not Germany, or Roderich, or someone who would have been a socially acceptable friend. But I'd already read too much to just stop now.

_You know, you're one of the only humans I'd ever really interacted with. I'll be honest; I'm not a big fan of you humans. Whether or not you're the reason I'm alive, you'll all die in the end, anyways. So why bother interacting with them?_

_I'm going to describe the day we met in full detail now, just so you can get a good mental image. And so you could know that nobody knew, or currently knows, you like I did._

That's impossible, sir. I don't even remember your name. Pictures need to tell me what you look like. There's no way I would forget someone who was a close friend. I'm not that heartless.

_It was a sunny day on the year of 1943. I was bored, and whenever I'm bored, I go see either Roderich or Elizaveta (that's Hungary's real name.) But since Elizaveta kicked my ass the last time I saw her, my sore-loser-self decided to go see someone who wouldn't be able to beat me up in another thousand years: Roderich._

_I first tried to just let myself in, like I always do, but this time the door was locked. I was a bit confused, but I knocked on the door anyways and shouted a good number of swear words at Roderich for locking his door._

_Then, there were the clicks of a few locks, and then there was a little boy staring up at me. He was a cute kid with dark hair that wouldn't stay in place and big green eyes. His sleeves were loose on him and rolled back all the way up to his elbows, and his little fingers were red and blistered. He looked exhausted, but he didn't hesitate to look up at me and ask "Can I help you?" with his little tone of Austrian-German._

_When I first saw you, Daniel, I thought you were Roderich and Elizaveta's son._

I paused and rolled my eyes at that. Even as a child, people thought we were related.

_But hear me out here, Danny. You have Roderich's hair, all dark and messy, but you also have Elizaveta's green eyes. If they were to have a child, they'd look just like you._

The typical excuse, but I found myself actually believing it when he was telling me that.

_At first, I got mad, and I didn't know why. Maybe because I hated Roderich and I hated Elizaveta more. Or maybe it was because I didn't want either of them to have a life that didn't include me._

_Or maybe it was because I didn't want Roderich to like _Elizaveta_ enough to have a kid with her. Maybe I wanted him to fall in love with someone else._

_But we're not going to focus on that._

I would actually like it if you focused on that, please. That's the kind of information I want to tell Roderich.

"_Who're you?" I was pretty blunt with what I wanted, and I'm not going to lie, I my tone was nothing short of rude._

"_I'm Daniel," you said, and you seemed to notice my tone of voice, and your little eyes got angry. Am I mentioning your eyes too much? It was because when I first met you, I hated your eyes. They were Elizaveta's eyes on Roderich's face, and that seemed like an unnatural combination to me. I loved everything else about your appearance: the color and style of your hair, the color of your skin, the shape of your nose and the way your ears stuck out a little (don't worry; you grew out of that feature.) But I absolutely hated your eyes._

"_If you don't want anything, I think you should leave," you started to close the door, but I stopped you._

"_I want to speak to Roddy," I said, and you gave me a confused look._

"_Who?" you asked._

"_Austria, I wanna talk to Austria," I snapped, and you were starting to annoy me. It was stupid for me to get angry at you; you were just a little boy doing your job. But I didn't know that. All I knew was that you were in Roderich's house, you looked like Roderich, and that I really hated your eyes._

"_He isn't here," you said, beginning to close the door. "You'll have to come back later"_

"_I can wait," I insisted._

"_I'm not allowed to let you do that," for such a little boy, you sounded calm. But I wasn't focused enough to be impressed, the only thing I could think about was your eyes._

"_Oh, yeah? On what grounds?" I snapped._

"_I think letting a strange man into his house while he's away is a good enough reason for him to fire me," you retorted. "Go stand on those grounds"_

_Very suddenly, I actually started liking you. I think it was because of the way you snapped back at me, like you weren't going to put up with my shit when you didn't even know me. But I also think it was because you made it clear that Roderich and Elizaveta weren't your parents. And your eyes really didn't seem so bad anymore. But I still hated them._

What's so special about my eyes, anyway? My mother loved them. When I was little, she would comb her fingers through my hair in order to get my hair out of my face, and then she'd look at me and sigh "you have such beautiful eyes, Daniel"

When I was little, my mother's love of my eyes really confused me. I would climb up on the bathroom sink, get close enough to the mirror so that my nose touched it and my breath left steam on its surface, and then simply stare at my own eyes. I tried to find something special about them, anything at all, but all I saw was a pair of green eyes. Plenty of my friends had green eyes, just like mine. I couldn't think of one reason to why my eyes were any different from theirs.

I shook off the memory, and continued reading.

_Now, let's skip a head a bit. It's 1944, and you're eight years old. You have quite the talent of doing a combination of complaining and insulting people, all while not using curse words. And there's one person you always direct your insults to: Roderich._

"_That lazy good-for-nothing scumbag makes me do everything around here!"_

"_Is he really so rude as not to say 'thank you'?"_

"_You'd think that someone with doilies around everything would know how to say 'please'"_

"_If I have to listen to Mozart's fifth symphony one more time I'm going to claw my ears out and feed them to Gilbird"_

"_Please, he cares more about that piano than he does about his own country"_

"_I think Hungary divorced him because she was uncomfortable about the thought of being married to another woman"_

_For the longest time, I thought you were just being funny. That is, until I figured out that you were serious. Listen, I know you're overworked and you feel like he doesn't acknowledge you for it. But he really does care about you._

_His son left the house before any kid is supposed to. At a young age, all of his allies abandoned him just because "things were turbulent." His wife left him and the Nazis practically overran his country just because they could. I know for a fact that he feels like you're the only person in his life that he can trust. He needs someone who won't leave him, someone who won't give up on him just because times are tough. That person can't be a country._

_Don't hate him, Daniel. Please don't hate him._

I wanted to scream that he didn't understand, to yell that I never meant anything that I ever said about him. I was only a child. It didn't seem fair to me that I had to do everything. But I didn't hate him.

_Anyways, the current year is 1947. You're eleven years old. Just last week we went to see a movie—it was called "A Double Life" and you thought it was the best thing to hit theaters. I'll admit: that Ronald Colman was a really good actor in that one. Someone should award him for it._

Ronald Colman won the Golden Globe award for Best Actor in 1947 because of his role in _A Double Life_. I remember being really happy because I loved that movie so much. Oddly enough, all these years I'd been thinking that I saw the movie alone. It's really as if someone went through my memories with a pencil eraser and erased him out of them.

_Everyone else has forgotten me. My brother doesn't know who I am. Neither do either of his current roommates—Japan or Italy—and last I remembered, we were all in the Axis Powers together. No one at the world meeting recognizes me. It's like I'm a ghost. On this day, January 29__th__, I've kind of accepted that._

_And so, when I was walking down the streets of Austria being my ghost-self, I saw you. You were working in Roderich's yard, trimming bushes and whatnot. Never again have I ever seen an eleven-year-old boy use hedge trimmers that well, without cutting themselves by accident or moving awkwardly because of its weight. You'd didn't really pay me much attention; you were just focused on your lawn work. And I'm sorry to say that I still hated your eyes._

_I almost continued on, but you heard my footsteps. You turned, got a good look at me, and then waved your arms around to catch my attention._

"_Gil! Hey, Gilbert!"_

_For a minute, I considered the possibility that you were talking to someone else. After all, you were just a kid. You could have a lot of friends named 'Gilbert.' So I tried to keep on walking, but you got this discouraged little look on your face and simply raised your voice._

"_Gilbert, are you ignoring me? Gilbert!"_

_I stopped, and then pointed to myself. You laughed. "Yes, you!"_

_I was unsure for a bit, walking forward. You continued to cut the leaves on the hedges, your eyes on them, you kept talking. "I really liked that movie you took me to see, you know, 'A Double Life?' I thought it was really clever. I wonder if that could actually happen to actors; they get so wrapped up in the character that they're playing that it influences them to be dramatic or funny or a psychopath. I dunno; if I was paid to be funny on screen all the time, I guess it'd make me funny. But I don't think I'd become a psychopathic killer. What do you think? Gilbert? Gilbert, are you listening to me? Gilbert!"_

_I couldn't believe it for a few minutes. Not to be mean or anything, but if I were to choose anyone to remember me, it wouldn't be the little boy who works for Roderich. It'd be Roderich himself. But I was just so glad that someone in this cruel, twisted world remembered who I was. And you looked at me, all while asking if I was listening, with those big green eyes of yours. And this time, I didn't see Elizaveta's eyes. I saw _your_ eyes, the eyes of a boy who cared enough to remember my name._

_I love your eyes, Daniel. They're your best feature._

I clutched the letter so tightly I thought I might rip the paper. I couldn't remember any of that happening. Hell, I couldn't even remember ever knowing a guy named 'Gilbert.' But faulty memory or not, this letter was a collection of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me.

_You're the only one who remembered me. You did something my own brother couldn't manage to do._

But I didn't, Gilbert. I'm nothing special. As soon as you were gone, I forgot about you, just like everyone else did. I don't deserve this kind of praise, you're thinking too much of me. I don't even truly know who you are.

I'm sorry.

_I don't want to have to leave some kind of task for you._

And you shouldn't; your guess was wrong. I don't know you. I can't remember you.

_But you're the only one I can still trust._

No, you can't. I've already failed you, and I haven't even started yet. I'm sorry; Gilbert, but you should've trusted me. I was only going to forget you.

_Just like this one, I've written Roderich a goodbye letter. I want him to find it, but I know you can give him a little push or two in the right direction. It's very important to me that he reads that letter. But what's a dead man's wishes good for, anyways, huh?_

There was only a little more left in the letter, and it was taking all of my self-control not to cry. I couldn't remember him. He died thinking I would and I failed him. How can I screw up doing something as simple as remembering a man who was my friend?

Dead or not, I owed him something. The least I could do, I believed, was make sure that Roderich read that letter.

_You're a good kid, Dan, and one day you're gonna be a great man. I just wished I lived long enough to see you turn into that man._

_Goodbye,_

_Gilbert _

My hand went to my eyes, and it took my brain a second to realize that I was crying. I dropped the letter in surprise, my hands flying up to my face and using them to wipe the tears of out my eyes.

"Oh, God," I muttered, rubbing the corners of my eyes with my palm. I really didn't know what to do at this point. I promised Italy I wasn't going to let Roderich's heart break, and if that letter was anything like this one, his heart was going to shatter into a million pieces.

But, even if I was sadder than before, I felt like some part of me had been fulfilled. I now knew who he was and that he meant something to me. But I still couldn't believe that I would forget someone that meant that much to me so easily.

I thought for a moment, feeling the corners of the paper with my fingers. I've never broken a promise before, only a stray one every now and then when I had my fingers crossed tightly behind my back. But this was a promise between me and a guy I'd known for little more than an hour versus the dying wish of a friend.

I folded up the letter and stuck it in my pocket, while sitting up and dusting off my pants. I don't like to lie to anyone, but the choice seemed extremely clear to me.

Besides, I can always pretend that I crossed my fingers, can't I?

* * *

_**Bad news, guys: the chapters after this one are going to be delayed. I'm going on a trip, you see, and I'll only have my phone with me, since we're going el-natural. Even then, the chapters would be poorly edited and wouldn't be very long. So, in short, I'm going to be MIA for a while. Sorry. **_

_**So this is most likely going to be the last chapter for a while, but THIS STORY IS NOT OVER YET. **_

_**In Shades of Blue,**_

_**Ninja**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**I'm back~!**_

_**~ * ~ * Chapter Eight ~ * ~ ***_

"Daniel? Are you ok?"

_No. _

"Yeah," I said, offering Ivan a smile that was so fake someone could have drawn it on my face and there wouldn't be a difference. "I'm fine"

"You look like you've been crying," Ivan pressed on, looking me up and down.

_That's because I have been. _

After reading the letter, I repeated to myself that I was a man and that men are strong and men don't cry. I told myself that I needed to get up and leave this place before I got caught. But even though I knew what I had to do, I couldn't. I sat on my knees, clutching the letter in my hands and running my fingers over the lettering and the corners that were rounded by age.

_This isn't fair_, were the only words zipping through my mind, like a rush of adrenaline or how one reacts to fear. It wasn't fair that he was ignored when he was about to die. It wasn't fair that he had to die for me to remember him. And it wasn't fair for him to have left a letter to _me_, to someone who didn't care in the first place.

And with all these thoughts running through my head, I'm ashamed to say that I began to cry. I was huddled up in a stranger's room in an abandoned castle from another country with tears beginning to run down my face like water from a faucet. And for a second I was tempted not to get up.

It was a feeling similar to waking up in the morning. How you're tempted to not get up at all, to just give up on life. How much easier it would be to just lay here and go back to sleep, how much more comforting and easy your dreams are to this harsh reality. In my case, I figured I could just sit here forever with Gilbert's last words to comfort me. Maybe I could pretend he was still alive with this letter, instead of going back home and getting reminded that he was dead. But, just like you know you have to get up in the morning, I knew I had to leave.

"It was dusty in there," I said, wiping my eyes. "My eyes just got a little watery. No big deal"

"Ah," Ivan said, but I could tell he wasn't convinced, but he was nice enough not to pressure me on the matter.

I let out a breath. "It's late, I should be getting home"

"I'm afraid it's too late," Ivan said. "It's almost midnight, the ticket booths are closed for the night"

"What?" my eyes were wild, as I tried to think of some sort of alternative. I wasn't planning on staying here for so long, my mother was bound to be worried. "Damn it! Are there any hotels around here?"

"You sure you brought money for a hotel?" Ivan asked.

"I—I don't—no," I sighed. "What're you suggesting?"

"I have a house here," Ivan said. "It's a short drive; you can stay there for the night"

"At your house?" I bit my lower lip. "Sir, we just met a few hours ago, and I don't really want to intrude—"

"It would be no trouble," Ivan looked keen on the idea of our little sleepover, and I won't pretend like that didn't make me nervous. "And it's not like there are any other options for you. Wouldn't your parents be suspicious of you coming home so late? I mean, since you're skipping school and all"

My eyes widened. "How did you—?"

"A word of advice," Ivan said, patting me on the back. "When coming up with excuses for playing hooky, never use the term 'traditional Viennese holiday.' Nobody will ever believe you that way"

"Oh," I let out a nervous laugh, and then swallowed. "Are you sure that it would be no trouble?"

"Oh, course not," Ivan laughed. "Now, come, it's getting later and later by the second"

* * *

Ivan's "house" turned out to be nothing short of a mansion, with three or four floors protected by brick walls and a perfect garden that had flowers of nearly every kind. It had a black roof and a pair of hulking black doors with a set of doorknockers on them. I shouldn't have been surprised by the size of his house, given by the fact that he drove a Rolls-Royce. But, then again, he could've blown all his money on such a nice car that he couldn't have bought a house.

"Here we are," Ivan smiled, getting out of the car.

"Whoa," I whistled. "Your house is amazing"

"Thank you," he looked very proud of the fact that his house was so great someone complimented him on it. He unlocked the front door, and then gestured for me to follow him inside.

Just like its exterior, the inside of Ivan's house was amazing. The furniture was aligned perfectly, and everything seemed to have its own personal shine to it. I didn't see a trace of dust or anything anywhere, which seemed hard since the house was so big.

However, before I could compliment him on the niceness of his house, three people rushed up to him and did it for me. They were all male, Caucasian, and terrified. The tallest of the three was a blonde man with glasses, and he carried a kind of intelligent aura to him. The second was the only brunette one of the three, with hair that probably hadn't been cut in a long time and big green eyes. And the last one, the shortest of the three, was a blonde boy that couldn't have been any older than me.

The three worked quickly, asking him about his day, taking his coat, offering to make him a snack. And all the while, they didn't notice that a second person, meaning myself, had entered the house.

"I'm fine," Ivan said, though he handed his coat to the shortest one, and the boy ended up staggering under the coat's weight. Ivan then turned to me, and then gestured to the three. "Daniel, meet Eduard, Toris, and Raivis. They work for me"

"Hello," I offered my hand for a handshake, but they all just stared at me like I had two heads. "My name is Daniel, Daniel Feiersinger. It's nice to meet you"

The three exchanged a glance that said nothing short of: _why the hell is this kid here_? It didn't take me a long tome to figure out that none of them had any interest in shaking my hand, so I simply let out a breath and put my hands back in my pockets.

"Daniel is going to be staying here for the night," Ivan said, giving me a pat on the back that had the power to kill a small animal. "Daniel, do you want anything to eat?"

"No, thank you," I said. "I just want to get some sleep. I'm exhausted"

"Alright," Ivan then turned to the shortest one, whose name I wasn't completely sure at this time. "Raivis, you're around his age. Why don't you show him to one of our guest rooms?"

The boy—Raivis—didn't move for a second. It was as if his brain was trying to recollect what was going on and who I was and why I was here in the first place. The man with glasses nudged him forward, and he stumbled towards me. Raivis looked nervous for a second, and he then grabbed me by the wrist and took off like a rock out of a slingshot.

"H-here!" he exclaimed, and all but threw me into one of the rooms on the fourth floor. "Y-you can s-sleep here!"

"Thanks," I said, rubbing my wrist as to get rid of the red mark in the shape of a handprint on it. "Hey, do you have any PJs that I can borrow—?"

"You can't stay here!" Raivis slammed the door behind him and then grabbed me by my shoulders. "Get out of here! Get out while you still can!"

"W-what?" my eyes darted around the room for any weapon I could use if I ended up having to knock him out. "What do you mean?"

"What country are you? Did he take you over, too?" by now, Raivis already had tears running down his face. "You have to get out of here, before he takes you, too—!"

"Hey, hey, calm down," I said, pushing him back a little bit. You would've thought I punched him in the chest by the way he staggered back. "It's alright, you need to calm down. Let me make you some tea"

"What? No, you can't—you shouldn't—!" Raivis exclaimed, but he didn't really complain when I walked into the kitchen (after a trial-and-error system of trying to find it, all without Raivis's help) and made him a cup of tea. He drank it quickly, and almost happily, as if this was one of the most relaxing things he'd done in forever.

"There, are you calm, now?" I asked.

Raivis nodded. "I'm sorry; I just sort of . . . panicked. We don't get a lot of visitors here"

"Really? But Ivan seems so nice," I said, taking a seat next to him. "I would think that he would have a lot of friends"

Raivis gave me a confused look. "Ivan? Who's Ivan?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Your boss?"

"You mean Mr. Braginski?" Raivis's eyes widened. "He lets you call him by his first name?"

"Well, I mean, I'm not working for him," I shrugged. "He doesn't seem like the type to want to be called 'mister' all the time. But, then again, you guys seem to be so scared of him"

"We are," Raivis sighed, and then looked to me. "Well, he isn't a bad person, per say, but he's very . . . intimidating"

"I'll give you that," I said, standing up. "Hey, can I borrow some PJs? I don't really want to sleep in my jeans"

"Oh, sure," Raivis quickly led me back to my room, and then offered me a pair of PJs. I thanked him for it too soon, because when I tried them on the pants were too short on me (as they stopped a good few inches above my ankles) and Raivis was a lot skinner than me, so the shirt was tight and a few buttons had to be loose for it to even fit me. But I suppose it was better than nothing.

Either way, I was too tired to worry about how well his PJs fit me. I climbed into bed, fluffed up my pillow a bit, and then lay down my head.

Only to sit up abruptly, clutching my cheek while repeatedly saying: "Ow, ow, _ow_!"

For a second I didn't know what had hurt me, I just sat there rubbing my cheek and staring at the demon pillow. Then I ran my hand under the pillowcase and found something under it. I took it out a little too carefully, as I probably expected it to be a poisonous scorpion that would either lead to my ultimate death.

Luckily for me, it wasn't anything with the power to kill me. It was a necklace, one with a simple gray chain and a black pendant on its end. The pendant was in the shape of a cross, lined with silver metal, and it had a funny kind of shape for a cross. I studied it in my hands; it had a kind of familiar shape and feel to it. For a second or two, I just sort of tossed it between my hands and swung it between my fingers, trying to figure out where I'd seen it before.

I shrugged off the feeling of familiarity and set the necklace on the bedside table beside me. It was too late for all of this, I was tired and most likely emotionally unstable. So I simply got under the covers, successfully lay my head down, and I was out cold in a matter of minutes.

* * *

"_I think I want to quit"_

_I lay on the grass, feeling the blades on the back of my neck and weaving through my hair like a needle through fabric. The sun shone on my face, beating down through the leaves and branches of a tree. I wasn't quite sure where I was. The words I'd said seemed to come out of my mouth without my knowledge, like I was some kind of subconscious._

"_Why?" _

_Some part of me was screaming when I looked over and saw him sitting next to me. It was a man in his twenties, with white hair and pale skin, but his eyes were a striking gray. When I looked around, everything was in shades of black, white, and gray. But the me on the outside, the me doing the talking, wasn't surprised or shocked by his presence. This version of myself simply opened one eye, made a face, and then closed it again. _

"_Because it's a horrible and exhausting job," I said, getting comfortable once again. _

"_Why?" he asked, with a kind of laughing kind of tone in his voice._

"_Because he's a horrible person," I responded. _

"_Why?"_

_By that time, I was absolutely done with the word 'why.' I sat back on my elbows and scowled at him. "Gil, if you say 'why' one more time, I'm going to shove my foot down your throat!"_

"_Sorry, sorry," Gilbert laughed, and then there was a short pause before he asked: "Why?" _

"_GIL!" I snapped, only causing the man in question to laugh hysterically. "I'm serious!" _

"_Look, I had to," Gilbert smirked. "I don't think you really want to quit, Danny" _

"_But I really do," I leaned my head back so the tips of my bangs were brushing against the blades of grass. "He doesn't get that I'm just a kid. He really just needs to give me a break. I'd rather just . . . go home. Do you get what I mean?"_

"_If you quit, we wouldn't be able to be friends anymore," Gilbert looked me over with his solid gray eyes, eyes that should be another color. Strange enough, the thought of him having red eyes didn't scare me; it more or less comforted me. His eyes were comforting, though a demonic red against his pale skin. But the idea of red didn't scare me; the thought of him having steel gray eyes scared me. I wanted so much to say this, but it was like I was an actor reading off a script, like the words weren't mine._

"_Yes, we could," I opened a single eye and raising an eyebrow. "You could still come to my house and see me"_

"_No, I couldn't," Gilbert said. _

"_Why not?" I asked. Looking back on it, I realized how stupid and innocent I was. The idea of a grown man coming to the house of a little boy was enough to make my mother scream and a stranger's eyebrows raise. Not to mention it was ridiculous from the start, I was seven and he was in his twenties. What would we even have to talk about? But by the looks of this, the younger version of me was convinced that Gilbert and I were the truest kind of true friends. _

"_It just doesn't work like that," Gilbert shrugged, and then smiled at me. "If you're that exhausted, why don't you come over to my house on Saturday?"_

"Your_ house? In _Prussia_?" my face lit up like a Christmas tree, and I jumped up backwards and smiled at him. "Do you mean it?" _

"_Of course," Gilbert smiled. "Just you and me, kid"_

_For a moment, I just smiled at him without a word to say. "Do you need a personal assistant?"_

"_That's funny," Gilbert giggled, but I shook my head quickly. _

"_No, no, I'm serious. I would much rather work for you," I exclaimed, so excited and set on my idea of working for him rather than who I knew at the time as Mr. Austria. "You're a lot nicer than Mr. Austria and you're my friend. I don't mind taking a train over to Berlin in the mornings, honest, I'll wake up early and everything"_

"_That wouldn't work," Gilbert said. "Since we're already such good friends. There needs to be a fine line between work and your personal life, Danny C., I can either be your boss or your friend, I can't be both"_

"_Oh," you could just hear the disappointment seeping through my voice. "Well, if all the bosses in the world are like Mr. Austria, I'd much rather have you as a friend"_

"_You, too," Gilbert offered a smile, and then his hand went up to his throat as if he was choking on something. He covered his mouth with his hand, his sides shaking and going back and forth as he coughed. _

"_Gil? Are you ok?" I asked, just as he coughed what looked to be a red liquid onto the grass. Not black, not gray, but a striking, bright red against the gray blades of grass. The red that stood out so violently against the gray, and for the first time, I actually began to fear the color red. _

"_I . . . is that . . .?" I spluttered, looking up only to scream as loud as my lungs allowed me. The red, the horrible color was dripping from the corners of his eyes like teardrops and running between his teeth, staining his teeth black._

_When I moved, color surged through the ground like paint from a paintbrush. The color was quickly returning to my skin and to the strands of grass, turning my hair back to its usual brown. And unfortunately returning to Gil, where his skin was chalk white, like his hair, but stained completely in red. _

_He surged forward, clasping his hands around my neck and forcing me to stay in place, his grip getting tighter and his face close enough that I could smell the rustic scent of blood off of his teeth. The blood dripped down from his eyes, landing on my face like raindrops, so close to my mouth that I could almost taste it. _

"_G-Gilbert . . ." I chocked, my hands going to my neck and making an attempt to get his hands off me. "W-what's—wrong—with—you—?" _

_He opened his mouth, dripping with blood and saliva, and spoke with a voice that wasn't his. _

"_It _

_Wasn't _

_Him_

_It_

_Was _

_Not _

_His_

_Fault_

_It _

_Was_

_You _

_You_

_Lied _

_To_

_Me_

_Why_

_Did_

_You _

_Lie_

_To _

_Me_

_Daniel?"_

* * *

I jolted out of bed, breathing rapidly and touching my face and chest just to make sure I was still alive. I was so sure that I was going to find blood stained to my face, but like reality would suggest, there wasn't a trace of blood anywhere in the room. My breaths coming out in rasps, I clutched my heart and tried my best to calm down. But there wasn't much use in trying; every time I blinked, I could practically see him with blood tearing from his eyes and falling between the cracks of his teeth.

_It wasn't him_

_It was not his fault_

_What a funny thing to hear in a dream_, I thought, looking over to my clock. 6:30 AM, luckily the time I needed to get up to catch a train back to Vienna. But I didn't get up right away, I just sat there, toying with the covers of my bed sheets and trying to recollect my thoughts. It seemed like a good enough dream from a start, but it seemed to turn into a nightmare quicker than usual.

"Mr. Feiersinger, time to wake—" the man with the brown hair, Toris, walked in. He quickly stopped himself when he saw me sitting awake on my bed. "Oh, you're already awake"

"Yeah," I gave a nervous laugh. "Thanks for the thought"

Toris gave a quick, embarrassed nod before shutting the door behind him. I could hear his fast footsteps as he practically ran away from my room. I got up sluggishly, putting on the same clothes I wore yesterday and vaguely running a hand through my hair. The boy looking back at me in the mirror was one that looked ready to give up on all things related to sanity.

_You're overreacting_, I all but snapped at myself. _It was just a nightmare, there's no need to panic. _

It's not like this was the first time I'd ever had a nightmare. As a child, nightmares were frequent. That Roderich would fire me and then I'd amount to nothing, or the more normal ones, like getting attacked by a monster with no escape. On those days, I could run to my mother's room and have this feeling of serenity, like everything would be better. Running to Ivan's room was a fair option, yes, but I don't think that would have the same reception.

I made my way to the kitchen, where Ivan had already made himself comfortable. "Did you sleep well?"

"Not really," I muttered in response, rubbing my eyes. "I had a nightmare"

"Oh, that's too bad," Ivan gave me a look that I would take as genuine concern, but I could easily be wrong. "Do you want anything to eat? Toast, cereal, oatmeal?"

"Toast," I said, but when Toris made a dash for the breadbox, I said quickly. "That's ok, I can make it"

Most of my actions seemed to make all three of Ivan's employee's heads spin. They watched me like hawks when I made my own toast, spread the butter on it, and then washed the plate when I was done. Raivis especially looked like he was about to faint when I put my own plate away, and he actually did faint when I offered to do the dishes as a thank you for letting me stay the night.

"I can help you, you know, Mr. Feiersinger!" Eduard exclaimed, dancing around me as I moved all while carefully not touching me even the slightest bit. "You don't have to do _all_ of this work all by yourself!"

"It's fine, I've got it covered," I grumbled, and it was getting harder and harder to mask my annoyance with these three. "And call me Daniel; 'Mr. Feiersinger' is too formal. I'm not your boss or anything"

Getting the rest of the dishes done was somewhat of a breeze, considering how many times I've already done it for Roderich. Well, a breeze for me, but the three men working around me responded to my actions as if it were a crime against nature.

"Ivan," I said, walking into the kitchen and pulling out the cross-shaped necklace out of my pocket. "Is this yours? I found it in the pillowcase in my room"

"Huh?" Ivan took the necklace from me, turning it around between his fingers and squinting at it. "This isn't mine"

"How can that be? It's in your house," I said, my eyes widening and then narrowing.

"Other people have slept in that guest room, you know," Ivan shrugged. "Someone must have left it there by mistake. You know what? You can keep it, since you're the one who found it. A little gift from me to you"

"Seriously?" I gave a small smile, tying the necklace around my neck. "Thank you so much, Ivan"

"You're welcome. Do you need a ride to the train station?" Ivan offered, to which I agreed, since I had no idea where it was in this country. After I bought my ticket, we exchanged our goodbyes, I thanked him once again for letting me stay over with the remaining money I had (to which he had no trouble accepting,) and then boarded my train.

_It wasn't him_

_It was not his fault_

I couldn't help but feel like my mind was trying to tell me something. Wasn't _who's_ fault? Gilbert couldn't have been referring to me, since he followed up that statement by blaming me for whatever had been done. He could have easily been talking about himself in third person. He did look like quite the psychopath with all that blood dripping down his face.

Then again, it was just a dream. Not even a dream, a nightmare. My brain could have just been making up all sorts of crazy things just to scare me. I looked down, picking up the cross necklace between my fingers and playing with it. Now it seemed even more familiar to me than it did before, somehow, and I didn't know why. Like the answer was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't quite remember it.

Even so, with thoughts running through my head, I leaned back on my chair and drifted off into sleep.

* * *

_**You don't know how much I wanted to post this chapter early, put I had to keep to a "post it every Wednesday" schedule. **_

_**So that's it for today, what do you think? **_

_**In Shades of Blue,**_

_**Ninja**_

_***BAGPIPES EXIT!***_


	9. Chapter 9

_**School started this week. Fuck my life.**_

_**I don't own Hetalia. Figured I should say it once.**_

_**~ * ~ * Chapter Nine ~ * ~ ***_

_Higher, just a little bit . . . higher _

_By this time, I looked to be around eight or nine years old, but no older than that. Once again, I had that feeling that what I did wasn't my choice. It was like I was in a movie or a book, where it was set for me ahead of time, and there was nothing I could do to change it. _

_The me on the outside was reaching upwards on my tiptoes, stretching out my fingers to as far as I could reach while trying to reach the top shelf. Why in the world did Roderich keep all of his teas on the top shelf? I couldn't even reach it on my tippy-toes! But it was almost 7:00, and if he didn't get a cup of tea at least an hour before bed, Roderich was bound to be grumpy the next morning. And if there is anything Roderich Edelstein shouldn't be, it's grumpy. _

_With a powerful jump, I quickly grabbed the box of tea before gravity pulled me back to my feet. At just that moment, something scurried right past my ankles, making me fall back onto my ass. When I looked over, I saw something small and furry climb into the air vents. _

"_What the . . .?" I muttered, just as my eyes suddenly got big. "Was that a rat?"_

_Roderich was about as high class as one can get, and I knew that he wouldn't like a rat in his kitchen. Hell, he wouldn't like a rat so much as ten kilometers near him, not even farther than that. If he saw that rat, I knew that I'd be screwed (as he was bound to find some way to blame it on me. He always did.)_

_I scrambled over to the vent, removing its cover and crawling in after the rodent. I don't know how long I was behind those walls, but after what seemed like forever, I found the creature. _

_It wasn't even a rat; it was a mouse, which was slightly better than a rat in my option. I surged forward, grabbing the rat with both hands just before it got the chance to run away. "Gotcha!" _

"_Roderich, listen to me!" _

_I recognized Gilbert's voice instantly, peering out of the slots in the vent. I was in Roderich's room, by the looks of it, and Roderich himself was doing everything he could as to avoid Gil. He darted around the room, picking up books and searching through them, and then he would sit at his desk for a few moments and write something down, only to get up and walk around the room for no apparent reason. And all the while, Gilbert followed him around like a lost puppy. _

"_I am listening. You just said something stupid," Roderich said, his glasses glistening while looking through the pages of a book. _

"_How is it stupid?! You got married and you didn't even tell me!" Gilbert snapped, and I could hear the hurt in his voice. I practically sunk with pity; someone with pride like Gil's hardly ever got their feelings hurt. _

"_Oh? I didn't feel it necessary to tell you," Roderich's eyes narrowed. "I don't quite understand why you _care_, Gilbert."_

"_I—I just—," Gilbert spluttered, and he then exhaled and returned his steel gray gaze to Austria. It took me longer this time, but I noticed that once again, everything was in black and white. And thank God, there wasn't a trace of red anywhere. "You're not even the Austria-Hungary anymore. You're your own countries again"_

"_It's the only way to convince the people of our countries that we're still on good terms with each other," Roderich gave him a small look over his shoulder. "She's a lovely woman, and neither of us really minded it"_

"_The fact that she's a 'lovely woman' isn't a good enough excuse to marry her, Roderich," Gilbert snapped. By the look on Roderich's face, he was frustrated by the fact that he had a point. "Just go and get a divorce!" _

"_You really are an idiot," Roderich growled. "It isn't that easy"_

"_Why can't it be—?" Gilbert started. _

"_Why do you even care?" Roderich snapped. "I'm happy about it, Elizaveta's happy about it, my boss is happy about it, hell, even _Daniel_ is happy about it, and he's only nine years old! The only one in all of Europe with the audacity to complain about it is _you_!" _

_I wasn't exactly happy about being used as an example for stupidity, but it wasn't exactly the first thing on my mind. Gilbert's eyes narrowed as he hissed. "What's your point?"_

"_My point, Gilbert, is that you're hardheaded and you love to be stubborn just because you can, and that you need to stop," Roderich snapped. "I don't care how much you hate me, could you stop trying to ruin my life for ten minutes?!" _

_Gilbert's eyes widened, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence and the sound of breathing. Roderich's face remained angry and obviously thoughtless, but Gilbert looked more surprised. I could understand why anyone else would find the words 'stop ruining my life' insulting, but not Gil. He would usually just laugh it off with some kind of lame joke. But not this time; this time he looked completely . . . heartbroken. _

"_You think I hate you?" Gilbert asked. That's what got to him: the 'you hate me' part. If what I thought was to be true, that meant that he thought that he was ruining Roderich's life. That he'd already accepted that, but the concept of Roderich believing that he hated him was more than he could take. _

"_Well, you make it kind of obvious," Roderich muttered, looking to the ground. Very slowly, Gilbert walked forward, placing one hand on Roderich's shoulder and the other under his chin, giving him a gentle nudge as to make him look him in the eye. _

"_Gilbert?" Roderich asked, and his voice was full of alarm, but I couldn't help but notice that he wasn't really protesting. "What are you doing?"_

"_I could never hate you," Gilbert whispered, and then leaned forward and kissed him, right on the mouth._

* * *

I woke up to the sound of a train whistle scaring me half to death, all while breathing heavily and looking around as to check my surroundings. Why, why, why, why, why, _why_ would I _ever_ dream about that? But maybe it wasn't even a dream . . .

. . . Maybe it was a memory.

Some studies show that forgotten thoughts never really leave the brain. They're simply stored somewhere that your mind can't unlock, but can be unlocked with hypnosis or therapy. If that was the case with me, that meant this was a psychological problem, and had nothing to do with outside forces meddling with my brain.

However, dream or memory or whatever, I hoped with all my heart that what I saw had been a lie. Roderich was_ married_ back then, and to make matters worse, he was kissing another man. That meant he was having an affair, and with _Gilbert_, of all people!

I saw what happened, and who's to say I'm the only one? That was a good long time ago, but Roderich doesn't know what he's dealing with. If he makes everyone remember Gilbert again, they might remember other things. Including his kiss with Gilbert, if not other things as well, things I'd rather die than think about.

Well, wouldn't _that_ make a wonderful headline: AUSTRIA CHEATED ON WIFE WITH ANOTHER MAN. And I doubt the press would include the fact that Roderich and Hungary had already gotten a divorce by then and that Gilbert was long dead. I mean, why include such uninteresting little important details?

I got off the train, but even as I walked my way back home, my dream was the only thing on my mind. I should've known that something was going on between them. Why else would Roderich have been so desperate to remember him? It sure as hell wasn't because they used to be 'best friends.'

"Danny!" Annika, my younger sister, yelled at the top of her lungs from one of the windows. When I returned the wave, she turned to look over her shoulder and shouted. "Mom, dad, Lukas; Danny's home!"

The door swung open, and my mother swept me up in her arms and hugged me tightly. "Daniel, I was so worried! I called the museum, and they said that the trains were down for the evening!"

_Thanks, Antoine,_ I thought with a smile, and then returned the hug. "I'm fine, mom, we got a good hotel for the night"

"You were stuck in _Paris_?" Lukas asked, his eyes wide. "Did you _die_?"

"Yeah, Luka, he died," Annika rolled her eyes. "He's a ghost"

"Really?"

"No, you moron"

"Now, now, leave him alone," my father said, stepping forward and patting me on the shoulder. "You must be exhausted. Why don't you go get some sleep?"

"I am, thanks," I gave my family a smile before heading up to my room. As soon as I was sure no one was listening, I picked up the phone and quickly dialed Antoine's number. It rang for a bit, and he finally picked up.

"_Bonjour_?"

"Hey, it's me, Daniel" I said. "I just wanted to say thank you, you know, for covering for me and all"

"Anything for _you_," Antoine purred, but his voice got serious fast. "You could have at least told me that you were spending the night in Königsberg, I had to make up a lie fast"

"Yeah, I stayed a bit later than I was supposed to," I shrugged. "Sorry about that"

"It's no big deal," Antoine said. "Anyways, was it worth it? Did you find anything interesting?"

That's when I paused, biting my bottom lip. I wasn't sure if I should tell him, as everything I found seemed to be linked to something personal. Tell him about the letter, and then I'd have to tell him about Ivan, and no doubt he'd freak out about that. I shook my head to myself; it'd be less trouble to just lie.

"No," I said. "Nothing; I was right, it was just a coincidence"

* * *

"You're back I see," Roderich said, narrowing his eyes at me. "After two days"

"Y-yeah, sorry," I gulped, avoiding his gaze. After seeing him kiss Gilbert like that, I felt like I could never look at him the same way again. Maybe I could never look him in the eyes _ever again_. "I got sick"

"You should have at least called," Roderich scoffed. "I didn't get any of my paper work done, and with the World Meeting coming up, I'm going to have to get it all done at the meeting"

At that sentence, my eyes lit up. "I could go to the World Meeting with you, you know, to do your paper work. I wouldn't mind"

Roderich raised an eyebrow at me, but I could tell that he was considering the option. "I don't know . . . ever since the scandal with France—"

"You know I wouldn't do that!" I exclaimed, making a face at just the thought of me _ever_ doing that. "You won't even know I'm there, I'll just sit next to you and get your paperwork done. I won't talk, I won't make noise; it'll be like I'm doing it here"

Roderich thought for a moment, and then shook his head. "And you promise you won't make any noise"

"I promise!" I exclaimed, my eyes getting wide.

"Then alright; but you're there to do paperwork, nothing else"

* * *

_**Since this is a PruAus story, I figured I could include some PruAus in here. Sorry it took so long. **_

_**In Shades of Blue, **_

_**Ninja**_

_***BAGPIPES EXIT!***_


	10. Chapter 10

_**~ * ~ * Chapter Ten ~ * ~ ***_

"So are all the countries going to be there?" I asked excitedly, trailing behind him while lugging a briefcase behind me. Whenever I thought about it, I realized that the briefcase was extremely heavy. But I was too excited about getting to go to a world meeting to actually care.

"Yes, Daniel," Roderich sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Am I going to be the only personal assistant? No, no, don't tell me; I want it to be a surprise!"

Roderich gritted his teeth in annoyance, walking up to what I used to know as the tallest building in Vienna. He quickly told the secretary that he was the Republic of Austria and then he gestured to me and introduced me as his personal assistant. The secretary gave him a nod and muttered something, and then returned her attention to her notes.

"Hi," I said quickly, offering the secretary a wave before Roderich grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into the elevator.

"Could you possibly be any less embarrassing?" Roderich raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"Remember, you're here to do paperwork," Roderich said, glaring me up and down. "Not to socialize. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," I said, just as the elevator rang to alert us that we'd hit the top floor. I wasn't sure what I expected, but this was just as nice. There was a table consisting of snacks and drinks, lined with a couple of maids prepared to give coffee to anyone who needed it (a brunette man practically drowning in cats was a worthy candidate.) Other than that, there was nothing but a long table in the room, lined with plaques that had the countries names and flags on them.

"Austria, hello," a woman with long, dark hair that was pulled back with flower clips ran up to him, her smile wide and practically glittering. Her gaze then quickly went from Roderich to me, and she gave me a warm smile before ruffling my hair. I won't lie, my face was about as red as red can get. What can I say? She was really pretty. "And who's this?"

"This is my personal assistant," Roderich said, and then grabbed a nearby chair and set it by his own. "Daniel, you can sit here"

"Thank you—" I started, and then was knocked off my feet as I was tackle-hugged to the ground.

"_Daaaaanieeeeel_!"

"Antoine?" I asked, blinking up at the person who had me pinned to the ground. And sure enough, it was him; I could recognize those big blue eyes and blonde locks anywhere. "What are you doing here?"

"Francis brought me," Antoine smiled down at me. "He always takes me to World Meetings, but I've never seen you here before"

"It's my first time coming here," I said, glancing around awkwardly. "Could you, um, get off of me . . . please?"

"Oh, ok," Antoine quickly jumped off me, allowing me to dust myself off and take my seat next to Roderich. At that moment, all of the countries began talking in rapid English, and it began to get harder and harder for me to understand what was going on. When their words turned into long-syllabled slurs, I decided to finally start on that paperwork of mine.

I was beginning to wonder what all the fuss on World Meetings was about, because so far this meeting was just like any other meeting. Any arguments they had seemed to be about the War and who was paying for it, a notable happening being how the argument between the ex-Axis Powers and the ex-Allied Forces turned into an ego fight between the U.S. and the Soviet Union.

When someone started tossing around the words 'moon landing,' I decided to look up and see what all the fuss was about. The United States was young compared to everyone around him, and in all reality, not very much older than me. He did have that 'all-American' look that every actor on TV seems to brag about; blonde, perfectly styled hair and big blue eyes behind glasses.

The Soviet Union, I'm guessing, was a man the size of a grizzly bear. His hair was a kind of silvery gray color (though he didn't look old,) and his eyes were a strikingly odd shade of violet, a bit like Roderich's. And half of his face was covered with a scarf.

My eyes widened, and I ducked down as to cover my face with my paperwork. _Ivan_? It was beginning to make sense; why Raivis asked me if I was a country when I slept over, why his three servants were so scared of him. Were they countries, too?

Sure enough, when I looked around, I saw the three of them sitting in their own chairs: Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia. Even here, they looked just as terrified as they did back at their own home, shaking and sweating with fear.

I wasn't exactly worried about their well-being at the moment. If Ivan—or Russia, whoever he was—recognized me and pointed it out, Roderich would know that I'd skipped a day of work. Also that I lied to him, and by the looks of it, I'd slept over at the home of someone he wasn't too fond of. News like that was enough to get me fired. And then I'd have to tell my parents why I got fired, which included lying to them. Getting fired and grounded on the same day: not my cup of tea.

"That's enough," judging by his accent, I'm guessing Britain, said. "I think this meeting has gone on long enough"

The other countries grumbled in response and I jumped out of my seat, quickly telling Roderich that I needed to go to the bathroom. But before I could reach the door, someone grabbed me by the shoulder and forced me to stay put.

"Hello," Ivan said, offering me a smile. "You know, when you told me you worked for the Austrian government, I didn't think you worked for Austria himself"

"I—uh—I didn't think it w-was important," I spluttered. "Why didn't you tell me you were the Soviet Union?"

"Russia—I'm Russia," Ivan said. "And, just like you, I didn't think it was important"

"Oh," I squeaked. I couldn't argue with that kind of logic.

"I didn't even know Austria had a personal assistant," Ivan said, crossing his arms.

"I don't think it's something people talk about," I said with a shrug.

"Oh?" Ivan said, pointing around the room. "France won't stop talking about that little blonde boy of his, Antoine Rousseau, and not to mention he takes him around everywhere. Then you have Mai Fukushima, Japan doesn't do anything without consulting her first. And then there's Bolin Chen, China says he's the best Beijing has to offer. Britain is trying to get his personal assistant, Benjamin Hallman, into _Oxford_. Even that idiot America doesn't leave the house without Virginia Thompson, his little lapdog"

I won't pretend that it didn't hurt to hear that everyone else was so proud of their personal assistants, that they were treated like friends or family rather than servants. But I wasn't about to let that get to me; I knew that that was exactly what Ivan wanted. "What's your point?"

"That he doesn't seem to appreciate you very much, does he?" Ivan asked.

"I . . . I can live without it," I said.

"What if I told you that you didn't have to?" Ivan turned to me.

I looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "What're you suggesting?"

"I would like to hire you," Ivan said, offering his hand for a shake. "So you could come and work for me in Moscow"

"In_ Moscow_?" I exclaimed, my eyes wide. "Sir, with all due respect, I live in Vienna! I'd have to take a train to your place extremely early every morning, and—"

"You could live with me, and when the time comes, I'll even help you get into college," Ivan said. "Not to mention 'has worked for two countries, fluent in three languages, and has attend world meetings' would look excellent on a college application, wouldn't it?"

In all honesty, Ivan had a point. But still, the idea in itself seemed very far-fetched to me. "I . . . I don't know—"

"I'll even pay you twice as much as he does," Ivan smirked. "Just for the hell of it"

My eyes widened, and I began to splutter and spit out sounds that vaguely sounded like words to any language. "You—but—_twice_? You do know how much he pays me, right?! I mean, of course you do, there's a standard payment—but _twice as much_?! That—I mean—c-carry the two and—you'd be paying me a hundred a week! That's crazy!"

"It's an amount I'm willing to pay," Ivan said. "You're experienced; you work well with the help, not to mention you're smart. I think you'll be a very good personal assistant"

"I—I just—I have to think about it," I spluttered.

"That's alright," Ivan smiled. "Take your time"

I gave a nervous smile, backing up slowly before turning on my heels and darting over to my chair. I clutched my heart, breathing heavily and trying to recollect my thoughts. This was the offer of a lifetime, hands down. It included learning a third language, living in another country, and an insanely awesome amount of payment.

But I wasn't hyperventilating because this was just so amazingly awesome and I couldn't believe it was offered to me; I was hyperventilating because I knew I couldn't accept the job. I promised Gilbert that I would make sure Roderich read that letter. Whether or not Gilbert knew I promised him, I knew it'd kill me internally for the rest of my life if I didn't make sure Roderich got it.

"Daniel? Are you ok?" Antoine asked, taking a seat next to me.

"_Ivanofferedmeajob_," the words poured out of my mouth as easy as breathing would.

"What?" Antoine asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Russia—Russia offered me a job," I said, turning to him with a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "To—to work for him in Russia, he says he's gonna pay me one hundred a week!"

Antoine hardly looked happy for me, instead he looked horrified and practically heartbroken. "Russia . . . that's a whole other continent. We wouldn't be able to talk to each other anymore."

The expression on his face seemed to take my heart and crush it, to destroy my last thoughts of ever taking that job. I sighed, running my hands through my hair. "Don't worry about it; I won't be taking that job. I still have stuff to do"

"Stuff? What kind of—?" Antoine started, and then his eyes got wide. "You _did_ find a lead! Why would you lie to me about that?!"

"Because I slept over at Ivan's place," I said, putting my face in my hands. "That's why he's interested in hiring me. I knew that sounded suspicious, so I decided not to tell you"

"Oh," the singular word left Antoine's lips as he stared at me.

"What?" I asked. "I get it, you think it sounds suspicious"

"It's not that it sounds suspicious, it's that you're a _moron_!" Antoine snapped, standing up. "A stranger invites to sleep over at his place, and you _accept_?! You're lucky to be alive!"

"I had no other choice, ok?!" I snapped in response, looking to the ground as I scowled. "The train station was closed; I didn't have money for a hotel; and Ivan—"

"_Ivan_?!" Antoine shrieked.

"—seemed like a really nice guy," I narrowed my eyes at him. I considered Ivan a friend before, so why shouldn't I be able to call him by his real name? "It's not like I had a lot of options"

"I would rather you sleep _outside_ than sleep with him!" Antoine snapped.

"I didn't sleep with him, you idiot, I just slept in his house!" I growled with a roll of my eyes. "He stayed in his room; I slept in the guest room. We hardly interacted at all"

"Well, everyone here knows that he's gay," Antoine snapped. "He didn't invite you to sleep over because he's so nice or because you seem like such a swell guy. He invited you because he thinks you're cute. He's _hitting on you_, Daniel, and the fact that he wants to hire you now is even more proof that he is"

"He—he isn't—!" I found myself spluttering by now, trying to recollect my thoughts and trying to figure out if what he said made sense. "Of course he isn't hitting on me! Why in the world would he try hire me for that?! I—I am a _delight_ to work with! There are a hundred reasons to why he would want to hire me, and you focus on the slight chance that he might be _hitting on me_?! And even if he was, it wouldn't matter, because I _don't like boys_—!"

"_Shut up_!" Antoine screeched, shoving me backwards. Even though he looked like the kind of guy who cared more about his hair than his muscles, he had some strength. I tumbled backwards, tripping over my chair and tumbling back onto the other chair, hitting my head hard on the plastic.

"Oh, my God! Are you ok—?" Antoine started, but was cut off when I jumped back to my feet and pushed him so hard that he crashed into the chairs behind him, scattering them around and landing on his fat ass.

"Don't _push_ me," I growled, but that wasn't the last I heard from him. Antoine got back to his feet, took a step closer to me and slapping me against the face so hard that I could literally taste blood. I spat out the little blood he drew when he slapped me, and then decided to full out attack him. I pinned him to the ground, punching him repeatedly at every inch of skin that I could reach.

I won't pretend that I was so strong and mighty and that he had such a hard time fighting back, because my only work out is carrying various tea trays from room to room. Antoine shoved me off of him, making a blow to my face and another to my stomach. I responded with slapping him in the face, only to punch him in the same area. By the sound of it, it must have stung. Antoine responded with punching me right in the eye, and that hurt like hell. _That _was gonna leave a black eye.

"Daniel! Daniel! _Daniel_!" Roderich yelled, grabbing me by the shoulders and hauling my off of Antoine, with me kicking and punching and trying to get back to Antoine so I could beat the living snot out of him. "Get _off of him_! What's wrong with you?"

"Antoine, are you ok?" France ran over, helping Antoine to his feet and checking him over for wounds. "You're not hurt are you?"

"I'm fine," Antoine said, dusting himself off.

"I thought you were here to do paperwork," Roderich snapped, as I clutched my eye. "Not to get into fights with other kids. I thought you were responsible enough to come to this meeting, Daniel, but this has proved me wrong"

"I'm sorry," I muttered. "It won't happen again"

"You better believe it won't," Roderich growled. "This your first and only warning, Daniel, if something like this ever happens again you're _fired_, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," I said, straightening my posture.

"Good," Roderich huffed, running a hand through his hair and making his way across the room. "I can't believe you would embarrass me like that . . ."

Antoine walked by me, nudging me hard with his shoulder and scowling at me. I returned the scowl, walking right past him, taking out my new necklace and playing with it, the black cross glinting in the light. That was the final straw, the friendship we had before was dead. Burnt up in a fire and had someone stomp on the ashes. I didn't really understand what he was so mad about. So what if I'm not gay; that's a known fact about me. It wasn't enough of a fact for him to go lunatic on me and shove me to the floor.

As I made my way to the snack table, I was shoved into the wall by someone's elbow, pinned down and immobilized. Whoever held me down was gripping at my necklace, pulling it forward and holding me down in a way that left me chocked and gasping for air. I grabbed the guy's arm, trying to force him off of me, but it was of no use.

I looked up, and I was met face-to-face with an intimidating man with striking blue eyes and blonde hair that was slicked back to perfection. He snarled at me, yanking on the necklace that chocked me even more than it did before. I was running out of air, and it was getting to a point where it blurred my vision.

"_Where did you get this_?!"

* * *

_**That's all for this week, hoped you enjoyed!**_

_**In Shades of Blue,**_

_**Ninja**_

_***BAGPIPES EXIT!***_


	11. Chapter 11

_**All I have to say is: thanks for the reviews!**_

_**~ * ~ * Chapter Eleven ~ * ~ ***_

I made a grasp to get his hands off me, pulling and grunting. But his grip was strong, so strong I was hovering about a foot or two off the ground, kicking my legs out in an attempt to escape. Nothing was working.

"_Where did you get that_?" Germany hissed, shoving his elbow into my chest. I let out a gasp; not only did it knock the remaining breath out of me, but it hurt like hell.

"I—I can't breathe—" I gasped. There were things that countries don't understand. I am a mortal, and my mortality is extremely frail. If you choke me, like so, I _will_ die. And that's it. No regenerating. No rebirth as another country (an odd rumor that Domink Hölzer once told me.)I'm dead. I'm not like you people, when this happens, it's over for me.

"_Answer me_!" Germany snapped.

_If I could, I would, _I thought bitterly, but it was starting to get hard to even think. I wasn't focusing on his question; I was focusing on trying to live without air. Why wasn't anyone helping me?! I doubted that seeing Germany trying to strangle a teenager was a normal happening. And yet, here I was, struggling to breathe with absolutely no one helping me.

I took in one last breath—

—and then fell to the ground.

I chocked, enjoying the new feeling of air. It was a sensation similar to coming up after getting your head dunked underwater. I gasped, trying to breathe in and out. It hurt to breathe, but at the same time, it was a good kind of hurt.

I looked up. I expected to see a bunch of countries around him, yelling at him, telling him this was unacceptable. But, rather, the countries and their assistants were simply staring in horror from their seats. And Ivan stood next to Germany, a hand on his shoulder. My best and only assumption being that he'd hauled Germany off me.

"That's enough," Ivan said.

"What the hell?!" Germany snapped, turning to Ivan. "This is none of your business, Russia. Why the hell did you stop me?!"

"If I didn't stop you, you would've killed him," Ivan said.

"Please, I wasn't going to—!" Germany then looked to me, gasping and spluttering on the floor, unable to even stand. And when I tried to, I was still dizzy, and I fell to the ground again. "Oh"

"Why did you even attack him in the first place?" Ivan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because of _this_," Germany growled, grabbing the necklace by its charm and yanking my head up with it. The metal dug into the back of my neck, stinging, leaving me sort of hovering on my knees. "This is a German award, only given to men in some of the _highest_ military ranks, men who've done something to _earn_ it. Now how the hell did it get around the neck of an _Austrian_ teenager?!"

"That can't be right," Ivan's smile was cruel, kind of humiliating, as if he'd been waiting for Germany to say something like that. "He got that at my house. In fact, he found it in a pillow and even asked me if it was _mine_."

Germany's eyes widened. "What—?"

"Now, tell me, why would a German Medal of Honor be in a Russian's house?" Ivan got that look of childish cruelty in his eyes once again, as if this was the most fun he'd had in years. "Because if you can come up with a logical answer, you can keep the necklace"

Germany began spluttering, dropping me so I fell on my knees. I put a hand to my neck, rubbing it as to get rid of the now-red marks left on to my neck like tattoos. I looked up, seeing both countries staring at each other.

Germany muttered something along the lines of "sorry" before walking away, or rather, running away. By the looks of it, he didn't want to be anywhere near me or my new necklace at this point.

Ivan offered me his hand. "Need some help?"

I took it, as he helped me to my feet. "T-thank you"

"You're welcome," Ivan smiled, and then put a hand to the marks around my neck. He felt cold; cold as ice. I was wondering if he liked to keep his hands in freezers just for the hell of it. "That doesn't look so good. Are you ok?"

"I'm f-fine . . ." I muttered, looking down at my necklace. This necklace was apparently so important; Germany would attack me for it. He wore a similar one around his neck, so it wasn't that he wanted it. It was a pride thing. But if it was so valuable, what was it doing in Ivan's guest room?

"That's good," Ivan said, looking around. "Looks like someone didn't even bother to check"

Sure enough, Roderich hadn't even moved from his seat. He just sat there, looking over all the paperwork that I got done, and finishing the ones I didn't get to. He didn't even look up see what all the fuss was about, and he didn't get up to check if I was ok. He just sat there.

I think Ivan saw the disappointment on my face, and he put an arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. "No matter how hard you try, Daniel, there's always going to be someone who just doesn't care. Keep that in mind"

He patted me on the back, and then returned to his seat. Meanwhile, I stood there, unsure what to think. It wasn't really a surprise; why would Roderich care? I was replaceable. I was going to either die or retire someday; it was going to happen sooner or later, right? If it happened sooner, why would he care?

"Daniel!" Antoine ran over, grabbing me by the shoulders and checking me over. He looked like he was about to hug me, but he stopped himself. He took a few steps back, swallowed, and then looked at me with expressionless eyes. ". . . Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I mumbled. Great; Roderich didn't care and neither did Antoine. Half of me wanted just reach forward and hug him, to scream that I was sorry for whatever I did to make him mad. To cry that I needed him right now. That I was confused and angry and that the ghost of a dead man was keeping me from doing anything that I wanted to do. But my pride won that fight, and I kept my distance.

Antoine glanced over to Ivan, and then back to me. "So, it looks like your boyfriend saved you from this one?"

"He isn't my—" I started, but Antoine didn't let me finish.

"He's really desperate to get you to work for him," Antoine looked to the floor, crossing his arms. "If things continue like this, you'll be sleeping with him by the end of the month"

"Antoine, stop it," I muttered, looking down. What happened? Why couldn't we just be friends? He didn't have to be so bitter about everything, not when I was so confused already.

He paid no attention to me, turning and walking away. That was it. I was surrounded by people who didn't care; and this was solid proof of that. By now, it looked like the only one in this room who cared the least bit about me was Ivan, and everyone was telling me not to work for him.

Working for him would mean leaving my family, my friends, my school, my language, my culture, and my home. It would be so much easier to just stay home and work for Roderich. But this job was getting tiring. I would wake up every morning, and hate going to work. For the longest time, I would work thinking things like '_why am I still here_?' or '_when do I get to go home_?'

My mom told me you have to love a job to be good at it; that you should quit if you hate it. And I thought I was beginning to hate this job.

I walked over to his seat, sitting next to Roderich. There was a pause before I asked. "Why didn't you help me?"

"Help you? With what?" Roderich asked, looking up from his paperwork for the first time. "Are you talking about what happened with Germany?" he scoffed, shaking his head and laughing a bit. "Germany wouldn't have killed you, Daniel."

"He almost did," I narrowed my eyes at him. "The guy started two world wars; I doubt he'd have a problem killing a scrawny teenager"

Roderich rolled his eyes. "You're overreacting"

I paused. "I found a lead"

There was a short moment of silence, before Roderich turned to me. "You what?"

* * *

I'd considered keeping the letter to myself forever, but I couldn't think of anything. Gil wanted him to find that letter on his own, and in all honestly, I couldn't think of any other way of alerting him that a letter to him had been written. There were, of course, a couple of parts that I didn't want him reading. But considering I planned to quit after he found that stupid letter, I figured it didn't matter much.

So we sat on opposite couches, with him re-reading that letter for about the eighth time, and me eating about my ninth cookie. After what felt like forever, he set the letter on the table in front of him, and then looked at me. "So you knew him?"

"If that letter is genuine, then yeah," I grabbed another cookie, breaking it in half just for the smell. I love the smell of fresh baked cookies, and I especially love the taste of Roderich's cookies. "But like you, I forgot about him"

"Gilbert . . ." Roderich muttered, and I was given a painful reminder, he'd said his name just like that before Gilbert kissed him. "You also knew his name"

"Only because he signed it," I bit into the cookie, munching on it and speaking with my mouth half-full. "If he hadn't, he'd still just be _that guy_ to me"

"Oh . . .," Roderich said, a small smile coming to his lips. "He really liked you, didn't he?"

"I was just a wonderful child who did wonderful things," I joked, and Roderich laughed. I didn't think my joke was funny, a pathetic attempt at sarcasm, really. But his laugh sounded so happy and joyful, as if my little joke lifted so much off his shoulders. And the thought that I'd made him at least a little bit happy made me smile.

"That thing you said about the doilies," Roderich tapped on the letter, giggling a bit. "And me not saying 'please' . . . that was a good one"

"Yeah, well, I was eight years old and had a heart full of pent-up anger," I said, gaining another laugh from Roderich. I was on a roll today.

Roderich set the paper down on the table in front of him, and sighed, but it was more like a happy sigh. "I just realized . . . I don't know anything about you, Daniel"

I gave him a funny look. "Well, I'm just your assistant, after all"

"Nine years of service, and I still don't know anything about you," Roderich sat forward in his seat a bit, folding his hands together and resting his chin on them. "Please tell me"

It surprised me for a long moment that he'd said the word 'please' when he asked, rather than just expecting me to answer him. For that reason, I decided to answer his question. "I don't really know where to start"

"Let's start somewhere simple," Roderich thought for a moment. "Tell me about your family"

"Um—I live with my mom, my dad, and my younger siblings," I said, grabbing another cookie. What can I say? They were both delicious and addicting. "My mom's name is Karolin, my dad's name is Ignatius, my younger sister is Annika, and my younger brother is Lukas, but everyone calls him Luka. Their ages are eleven and nine"

"How nice," Roderich said, grabbing a cookie. "What do your parents do?"

"My mom's in politics," I continued. "They don't let her on the radio or anything because she's a woman, but she writes a lot of speeches and makes a bunch of decisions. People give her hell for it, though."

"I thought they didn't put her on the radio?" Roderich asked, raising an eyebrow. "How do they even know she's working in the government?"

"Things don't stay secret for too long," I shrugged, playing with the cookie by breaking off pieces of it and sticking them into my mouth one at a time. "When they found out she was in politics with three kids, people thought she was neglecting us or something. Which isn't true, but nothing we said would change their minds. Everyone still thinks she's some kind of heartless workaholic with no time for any of us"

"Oh," Roderich shook his head. "And your father?"

"He's a mechanic," I said. "He wants me to own the shop one day, but I don't see it."

"What does he work on?" Roderich pressed on.

"Trains, mostly, but he'll fix a car every now and then," I said. "He'll work on any kind of war machine you bring in; he's dropped lots of projects just to fix tank engines."

"Why?" Roderich asked.

"He used to be a soldier," I said, looking to the ground. If he kept asking questions, and if I kept being honest, things were about to get very awkward very fast. "He didn't really want me to take the job working for you."

"Oh? Is he not fond of the government?" Roderich asked.

"No, it's not that," I bit my lower lip. "He loves this country. He's very proud of being Austrian. After all, he married my mom and she's a Politician. It's just . . . you see, he doesn't . . . what he doesn't like is—"

"Me," Roderich finished; his voice low. "He doesn't like _me_"

It kind of broke my heart to see how much that hurt his feelings, as he looked to the floor, twiddling his thumbs. "My dad's been very bitter since the war. He says he never saw you out there when men were losing their lives. And when he lost his leg—it's unfair, but he blames it on you. I know there's nothing you can do, but he's very proud, and he doesn't like to admit that something's aren't anyone's fault. Really, he doesn't have any excuse to be mad at you. Honest."

"I see," Roderich muttered. His tone was still low, almost inaudible. There was a short pause before he asked. "Do you hate me, Daniel?"

"What?" I asked, my eyes widening, chocking a bit on my cookie.

"Judging by what this letter says and what your father thinks of me, I'm beginning to get a bit worried," Roderich gave a nervous laugh that died very quickly. "Be honest. Do you hate me?"

I thought about how I could answer that, and then I decided on the truth. "I don't like the way you act sometimes, but no, I don't hate you"

Roderich smiled. "That's good. Now, tell me more. What's your best friend like?"

"I . . . don't really have one," I said, rubbing the back of my neck in shame. "I'm not very good at making friends. And between work and school, I haven't really gotten the time. But Dominik Hölzer invites me to his birthday party every year," Dominik Hölzer invites _everyone_ to his birthday parties every year, but I decided not to tell him that. "And Tobias Jaeger has been in my class every year since the second grade, so we're pretty close. And my neighbor, Roxanne Bauer, she's nice"

"A girl?" Roderich smirked.

"Yeah," I felt my face getting red. "I've had a crush on Roxy since the third grade"

"Any luck with that?" Roderich asked, still smiling like a devil.

"No," I admitted, shrugging. Strangely enough, that didn't seem to bother me as much as it would've a few months ago. "To be honest, I don't think I like her anymore."

"Oh?" Roderich tilted his head. "There's a theory that it's unlikely for people to fall in love with someone they met before the age of ten. If you liked her since the third grade, that theory might be proven true"

"Yeah," I shrugged. "I guess I just love her like a sister"

"Do you like anyone now?" Roderich asked.

For a brief moment, Antoine's face flashed into my mind, but I shook my head and cleared the thought from my mind. I'd made a big deal about it to him; I _wasn't_ a homosexual. I didn't. Like. Boys. End of story. "No, I don't suppose so"

"Well, you're only sixteen," Roderich said. "You have plenty of time to think about these kinds of things"

"I don't know much about you either," I said quickly, before he could ask any more questions about my love life. If you ask long enough, something that you don't wanna be said is gonna be said.

"Ask me anything," Roderich said.

"What happened between you and Miss Hungary?"

There was a pause. This was something I wanted to know, especially since my latest dream / potential nightmare. His answer would really be the decision breaker, to see if that was a memory or just a dream. If he really still had feelings for her, it was probably a dream. But if he didn't . . .

Roderich sighed. "I met Hungary when I was very young; around five or six years old. We were very close. For the longest time, I had the biggest crush on her. I figured we were going to grow up and get married. All of us kids; England, Hungary, France, Switzerland, and me, we would play house together. And I'd always be married to Hungary. Someone would always complain, notably France. He'd always ask 'why can't someone else be the mom and dad?' but I wasn't for it. I was very stubborn, I wouldn't put up with anything else. I grew up thinking we were in love, and I'm guessing she thought similarly. I was such a child. Twenty-one years old, and Hungary wasn't even my first wife. Yet, I still thought we'd be together forever"

I stared at him, leaning forward in my seat, folding my arms on my legs, intrigued by his words. "So what happened? Did the government pull you two apart?"

"No," Roderich said. "We fell apart on our own terms"

I narrowed my eyes. "I don't understand"

Roderich smiled at me. "I guess I just loved her like a sister"

* * *

_***Loony Tunes music plays***_

"_**A bi—a bi—a bi—that's all, f-folks!"**_

_**In Shades of Blue,**_

_**Ninja **_

_***BAGPIPES EXIT!* **_


	12. Chapter 12

_**Yeah, I posted the last chapter way too early. Well, I'm posting at a later time now. **_

_**~ * ~ * Chapter Twelve ~ * ~ ***_

_I was eleven years old, shivering in the darkness. The rain was coming down in bucketful's, my hair matted to my forehead. I held my shoulders, looking around as I hugged myself. It seemed like I was in a forest of some sort, and once again, every inch of space around me was in black and white. _

Oh, no,_ that little voice inside my head, that side that was the present me, muttered. _This is just a dream, Daniel, stay calm. It'll be over when you wake up.

_A bit of dirt landed near my foot, and when I looked over, I saw that someone was digging a hole. There was a pang of annoyance; I was a child shivering in the rain and this guy was digging a hole. But the exterior me—the eleven year old me—was shivering and frightened and chattering his teeth. _

"_Are you almost done?" I called. Judging by my tone of voice, I wasn't being held against my will. _

"_Nearly," a voice responded; Gilbert's voice. _

_Another five or so minutes passed before he climbed out, covered in dirt and rainwater. He wasn't wearing a raincoat or carrying an umbrella either; that meant neither of us knew that it was going to rain. But even with the rain falling on his face, I could tell that Gilbert had been crying. _

"_Gil," I said, looking up at my older friend. "Is it true that whenever a country cries, it rains?"_

"_What?" Gil turned to me with a confused look on his face, and you could hear the sobs that were still written in his voice. "No, of course not; who told you that?"_

"_My teacher," I admitted, smugly. "When I told her that I was working for Mr. Austria, she told me that when a country cries, it rains" _

"_If that were true, then the people in Latvia would have walk around with umbrellas attached to their heads," Gil rolled his eyes, but I could tell that he was smiling. "And explain British weather? Britain never cries" _

"_Mrs. Reiter doesn't know that," I muttered, but Gil didn't make any other comments on the matter. _

"_Where's the box?" Gil asked, and I pointed to the dry spot I'd found beneath a tree. _

"_Right where I left it," I said._

_Gil smiled, picking up the box and attempting to dry it with his sleeve. That was a frail and useless attempt, considering how hard the rain was falling now. But at least the leaves weren't sticking to it anymore. Gil looked at me and smiled. "You know, this box is one of the last of its kind"_

"_Doubt it," I shrugged. "I've seen lots of boxes in my lifetime"_

_Gil laughed. "Not the box, the color. See the label? It's called 'Prussian Blue;' my blue. I already know that in a few years, they won't be selling anything labeled that color anymore" _

"_Why not?" I asked. Gil looked at me for a second, and the adult inside of me could see the inner battle he was fighting. Whether he was to tell me the truth and spare me the sadness, or lie and spare me my innocence. I actually hoped he would pick the first option for a bit—maybe make this easier on me now. But Gil smiled, shook his head, and then ruffled my hair. _

"_I guess they thought 'Midnight Blue' just sounds better," he admitted with a laugh. I felt a pang in my heart, that he knew he was going to die but smiled as if he were going to live. It's never easy to lie to a child. But the harsh reality is that most of the time, you should. There are many things about life—many terrible, horrible, heartbreaking things—that children just shouldn't know. _

"_Well, I for one like the sound of 'Prussian Blue' better," I huffed. "It's my favorite color"_

"_That's good to hear, Danny Christian," Gil smiled. He looked at me for a while, and then grabbed me and pulled me into one of the tightest hugs I've ever gotten. I was surprised for a bit, and then I hugged him back. After all, this wasn't anything new to me. I was a child, and for me, hugs were nice. But to adults, hugs aren't usually something nice. In this amazing world that grown-ups live in, sudden hugs are usually a sign of hopelessness. _

"_I'm scared," Gil whispered. _

_That really hit a vein with me, but not one to make me angry, but one to get me confused and concerned. "But . . . you're a grown-up. Grown-ups don't get scared"_

_Gil sniffled, smiled, and then held me tighter. "Sometimes, we grown-ups are a lot more scared of things than you kids are"_

"_You shouldn't be scared," I said. "You're one of the greatest people I know. You can do anything!"_

_Gil stood up, wiped his eyes, and then smiled down at me. "Don't ever change, Danny"_

_To me, that seemed like a stupid request. _Of course _I was going to change. That was part of growing up. But since Gil was already scared and worried, I simply nodded, and acted like I was going to hold onto my promise of never ever changing. But even when I smiled and agreed, I had my fingers crossed tightly behind my back. I didn't like to lie, but maybe this would make him feel better. _

"_What's the hole for, anyways?" I asked. _

"_It _was_ going to be my grave," Gil admitted. I could feel my heartbeat faster, and the inner me was screaming to run, to get away, to leave this place and never come back. For I could see the color, see it erupting all over the place. The leaves began to turn green and the sky turned to a dark blue rather than its solid black. But I couldn't move; not only did the exterior me not feel the need to, but Gil had a tight grip on my shoulder. "But not anymore"_

_I gulped. "Really? Whose grave is it, then?" _

_A droplet of blood fell on my shoulder, and I screamed. There it was, the blood I was all-too-familiar with, dripping from the corners of his eyes, from his ears, from the corners of his mouth and even from his nose. He smiled at me, a smile that was much too long for his face, a smile with teeth stained black. "Yours"_

_He shoved me forward, and I toppled backwards into the hole, landing on my shoulder. I could hear him; his loud cackling laughter. Every inch of my body hurt. I was cold, I was scared, I was wet, and now I was filthy. I was about to get filthier. A shovelful of dirt landed on my head, and the realization didn't take long. He was burying me alive._

* * *

When my head was nearly submerged in dirt, I woke up. Panting, sweaty, and terrified, I checked my pulse and then looked at my own face in the mirror. While I opened the door much too loudly, I silently dashed over to Annika's room. When I peered in, there she was, sound asleep. And when I did the same for Luka, he was also unharmed. After checking my parent's bedroom, I sat on the stairs and buried my face in my hands.

Sleep didn't seem welcoming, and neither did my room. That bed didn't seem comfortable and every dark place seemed terrifying now. It was quite pathetic, I was sixteen going on seventeen, and I was scared of the dark and nightmares. And some distant part of me wanted to cry. But I didn't, I couldn't.

Ten minutes of sitting on the stairs, and I could still feel the dirt on my skin, his blood on my clothing, the rain in my hair. Normal nightmares didn't scare me this much, but this one was different. This one felt _real_. It was like an odd feeling of déjà Vu, one that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

Well, most of it felt startlingly real, but none of the parts that were really scary. The things like his breath next to my ear, his warmth when he hugged me, the sound of his voice, the box . . . especially the box. Even when everything was in black and white, I could tell the color of the box. It was a dark blue with a velvety texture. I didn't know why it seemed so familiar to me or why it stood out so much, especially in comparison to being buried alive.

Then it hit me. The box was familiar because I owned one exactly like it. The same box that sat under my nightstand, the one that contained only a single letter from a dead man. The box I found _my_ letter in, the box I'd found in Königsberg Castle. And my box was identical to Antoine's box, the one he'd found in Gil's house, containing only an envelope with my old nickname on it and a movie ticket.

For a moment, I considered the possibility that this was nothing but my imagination. That I'd come up with some fantasy where the boxes had a connection to Gil. But who was I kidding? Even without my dream, the boxes were somewhat connected to Gil, and this dream of mine seemed to prove it.

But if that wasn't a dream, why was I still here? And surely I'd remember someone bleeding from every opening in their face as they attempted to bury me alive. But what made the difference?

I blinked, looking around me. And it didn't take long for me to put two and two together. It was the _color_. Whenever the dream was in shades of black and white, nothing horrible happened; nothing strange or out of the ordinary or permanently life scarring. It was when color came in that turned it into a nightmare, into something out of the deepest, darkest places of my imagination. It was the color that ruined my black and white reminiscences.

I had to tell someone; but who? Luka was too young, but maybe Annika? No, a control-freak like her would tell my parents that I'd snuck off to Russia in a heartbeat. Not to mention she'd ask a number of annoying questions.

After my siblings, my first thought was to tell Antoine. But once again, my pride wouldn't let me. Calling him would be easy, but he'd never listen to me if I didn't apologize. Something told me that before I punched him in the face, he wouldn't have minded me calling this late on a school night to talk to him. And to be honest, before he'd given me a black eye, if he'd ever called me late in the night just to talk, I wouldn't have minded. I loved the sound of his voice; something cool and reassuring telling me that I wasn't going crazy, especially at a time like this. That there was someone who cared enough to listen. But that wasn't an option anymore. I'd killed our friendship, and even though it wasn't very long ago, I was regretting it much more than I should have. I ran a hand through my hair; Antoine was definitely an option.

Then I considered Roxy or Tobias, but they wouldn't understand. I hadn't told them, and to be honest, I doubt they'd even been interested. I'd grown distant with my friends, but then again, I always have been. I guess it's got something to do with my personality. For a while, I'd think that I had friends, but then I'd just distance myself again and loose them. Some people can stick through it, people like Roxy and Toby, who simply laugh and say 'where've you been?' whenever I crawled out of my hole and rejoined them. But most people can't, and it doesn't bother me. I don't know why, but I'm content with loneliness.

And before you say something that I haven't already heard, no, loneliness isn't always a bad thing. I've learned that from years of people crowding me and telling me to put the book down and talk to someone; of people telling me to 'speak up' for once, because no one will hear me otherwise. There are some people who will feel lonely even when surrounded by a crowd of "friends," and I've come to believe that I am one of them. But I still don't think that's a bad thing.

While people may crowd around you and squish things into your mind, you don't have to believe them. Ever since I was born, people have been telling me the same things: "you_ have_ to have friends," "you_ have_ to like parties," "you _have _to love Christmas." But I don't, and it hasn't yet made me unhappy. I've found that the few friends I do have are the good ones, the best friends, and that everyone else isn't worth my time. Come to think of it, even with my lack of both friends and voice, this is the first time in my life I've ever felt truly unhappy.

Since Toby and Roxy were off the list, I figured I could maybe call Ivan. I still had his number written on a slip of paper from his job offer at the meeting. But I was still considering his offer, and something about me calling him in the middle of the night to talk craziness told me that he wouldn't want my service anymore. Not to mention he didn't know, and just like my friends, he wouldn't care.

I couldn't think of anyone to tell, but I knew I couldn't have all this information pent-up in my brain. It was going to drive me insane and murder my mind. But who was I supposed to tell? One of Luka's teddy bears wasn't going to respond with 'it's going to be ok, I believe you.'

And then it hit me. I didn't know why I didn't think of him before. Out of everyone, he was going to care the most. He would understand. And to be honest, it didn't matter if he got annoyed or angry at me. I was already planning on quitting. I dashed back to my room, closed the door tight, and picked up the phone.

I dialed Roderich's number quickly, and waited for someone to pick up. A good five or so minutes passed before a groggy voice on the other end snapped. "_What is it_?"

"Roderich?" I asked, going out on a limb. I'd never called him anything other than 'Mr. Edelstein,' 'Sir,' or 'Mr. Austria,' though I'd come up with many a name for him in my head. But luckily for me, Roderich didn't seem to mind that I'd called him by his first name. Maybe he was more preoccupied by the fact that I'd called around one o'clock in the morning.

"Daniel?" Roderich asked; his tone as annoyed as expected. "Whatever this is, can't it wait until morning? And don't you have school tomorrow?"

"No and yes," I said, biting my lower lip. "I think I found a lead about Gil. And better yet, I think I know who he was"

There was a pause, and when Roderich answered, he sounded wide awake. "Get dressed and come over as soon as you can"

* * *

_Mutti__,_

_Went to Mr. Austria's house—it's an emergency. Be back soon._

_-Daniel_

Technically that wasn't a lie; I was going to Mr. Austria's and this was, in our terms, an emergency. I'd left the note in case she'd woken up and found that I wasn't in my bed. And that had happened before. When I was thirteen, I woke up late at night and decided to go for a walk. When I came back, the Austrian police were surrounding my house and my entire family—my mother specifically—had thought I'd been kidnapped.

When the note was written and left in a place I knew she'd see it (one on the kitchen counter, one on the fridge, and one on the coffee maker,) I pulled on my jacket and left the house. I was lucky to live walking-distance from my boss, as that often made it easier to carry things like groceries bags and school backpacks.

I rang the doorbell only once, because Roderich answered it in a hurry. I was surprised to see him fully dressed, as we were meeting in his own home, but I suppose it was merely a matter of pride. He'd hurried me in, slamming the door behind me. I'd found that the living room was already prepared for my visit, with two cups of tea, a number of cookies, and the TV was on and playing a late-night episode of _I Love Lucy_.

"Sit down," he commanded, and I obliged. "What is it you found out?"

I let out a breath. "This is going to sound crazy and far-fetched, but please bear with me. I promise it'll all make sense when I'm done talking"

Roderich gave me an odd look, but nodded. "Go on"

"I've been having these weird dreams," I started, and continued my sentence before Roderich could comment on the absurdity of me coming here so early in the morning over the topic of nightmares. "But they aren't really dreams"

"You're dreams aren't really dreams?" Roderich raised an eyebrow, and that's when the oddness of my sentence struck me.

"Well—yes and no," I said, looking down at the floor. This was going to be harder than I thought. "I mean, they _are_ dreams . . . but they aren't. I think that they're memories in the forms of dreams. And if I'm right, this whole everyone-forgetting-about-Gil-charade is psychological rather than magical."

"I never said it was magic," Roderich narrowed his eyes.

"You were thinking it," I said, sighing. "I know it sounds crazy. But it all adds up"

"I'm not seeing the part where it makes sense," Roderich said.

I didn't really want to sit here and explain him the part about the boxes, but I did. I told him about Antoine's box, the one that was in Gil's house, and how that led to my box, in which I found the letter addressed to me in. Then I told him about the box Gil had been holding in my dream, but I left out the being buried alive part. Something's are just meant to be personal, and I don't think he'd have wanted to know that anyway.

"That doesn't prove much," Roderich shrugged. "Maybe your mind was trying to make the boxes connect—"

"But why bother? The boxes _already_ connect," I said, taking a long sip of tea before continuing. "I have a theory. None of us really forgot Gil, at least none of us humans. Our minds simply pushed him away, and our subconscious selves are being back memories of him in the forms of dreams"

"Explain how we countries forgot him, then?" Roderich raised an eyebrow. "I haven't been having reoccurring dreams about him"

I took in a breath. "You might want to get comfortable, my theory's a long one," Roderich did, and then I began talking. "We humans, believe it or not, are used to death. We fear it, we await its arrival, and we accept it. Whenever it comes around, we do get sad, of course, but we learn to live with it. You countries are a different matter. Death is taboo to you guys. Ironically, you fear it more than we do, even though you don't have to worry about it. And proof is that when anyone brought up Gil's death as a country, any other country, including you, said the exact same thing—'countries can't die.' You've forced your invincibility to death in our minds—the human's minds—as well as your own. You've simply accepted the fact that it can't happen.

"But let's say that out of the blue, a country like Gil dies. None of you know how to deal with it. We humans, though unknowingly, have practically mastered the art of moving on. You haven't because you've never had to. Your minds can't cope. So I've come up with two other options for your mind. Number one being denial; you continue living as if Gil is still here. Number two being the most obvious answer: forgetting. If he never existed, he never could've died in the first place.

"Then you have to consider countries like the Roman Empire, whom everyone remembers. But in all reality, none of you, with the exception of the Italian brothers and Vatican City, really _knew_ him. His other friends were dead as well, and his own grandsons didn't know him well enough to be affected by his absence. But he'd made too much of an impact on this world to be ignored. So you, as well as the rest of the world, accepted him as a legend. Him, and his other friends, became fairy tales that could never happen to someone else."

For a while, Roderich simply stared at me. He blinked, and my guess what that he'd realized the possibility that my words might be true. "Well—explain how you forgot, too!"

"That was trickier," I admitted. "I had to think of other possibilities, and retrace a few of my steps. So the last time we cleaned your attic, with the exception of last month, was around five years ago, right? When I was eleven or twelve years old?"

Roderich thought for a moment. "You were eleven in '47 . . . or was it '46 . . .? Your birthday is in October, right?"

"October 22nd, yes," I answered. I'll admit; it did feel a bit good to know that he had a general idea of when my birthday was. But, then again, he's never once given me a birthday present, and he hadn't once wished me a 'happy birthday.' So the fact that he knew it was my birthday but never acknowledged it, even when I was a small child, made me feel even bitterer.

"Yes . . . '47 is a bit fuzzy to me, but yes, that was the last time we cleaned out the attic," Roderich snapped his fingers. "Oh, yeah; there was a lot of confusion that year. Nobody thought it was their turn, Switzerland and Germany nearly got into a fistfight over the subject"

I bit my lower lip. "'47's fuzzy to me, too. But think about it. You guys did settle that argument and we ended up cleaning your attic. I had to wait on you guys, in case you wanted anything. Now, in this time period, I'm eleven years old and my attention span is even shorter than it is now. So I pick up a photo album, flip through it, and see a picture of Gil.

"But it hasn't been that long, and I recognize him. And since I knew who he was, I simply assumed that you guys did, too. So I put up the photo album, and went on with my day. Then the next year comes around, and you clean up Miss Liechtenstein's attic. Through that entire year, Gil's name is never mentioned, I've never seen a photo of him, and I don't see him around anymore. By that time, he would already be fading from memory.

"Then the next year comes around, and you go to Mr. Switzerland's place. He wasn't very close to Gil, so even if you did make me come along, I wouldn't see any pictures. The next year comes, and you go to Mr. Germany's place. You might have found a picture or two, or maybe you didn't. After all, the pictures we found in Mr. Germany's place looked like they hadn't been touched in years.

"Year after that, you canceled because of your divorce with Miss Hungary. No one else complains, because we all know that out of the group of you, the only ones who can stand each other are Mr. Switzerland and Miss Liechtenstein. Then the next year comes around. This year, we go up to the attic. I find the picture. It's been five years, and I haven't seen him nor heard his name. It had been a long and incredibly coincidental process, but Gil had been entirely erased from my memory."

Roderich was quiet for a moment, and then he spoke. ". . . in '47, that confusion about whose turn it was . . . nobody remembered because . . ."

"It must've been Gil's turn," I said, looking down and beginning to watch the steam rise from my cup. "That's why no one remembered."

We sat in silence, before Roderich piped up. "Tell me about those dreams of yours"

And I did. I started from my first dream, of sitting with Gil outside and hearing his voice. I did skip a few parts, however. Gil attacking me, the color meaning it was now a nightmare, and especially the kiss he and Gil had shared. I didn't even bother telling him about that dream—telling him about anything that had happened in that dream would inevitably lead to me talking about the kiss. That was something even I wasn't completely sure of happened, and if anyone was to tell him, it would be Gil's letter.

"You're theory still isn't proven," Roderich said, picking up a teacup and taking a sip. "Yes, it is likely—but for a theory to be proven true, you need to run tests. You need to do research. And if Gil was the only one that died, you can't do any research nor run other tests"

He was right, of course, but that seemed to simple a reason to end my investigation altogether. I thought for a moment. When we'd talked to her, Ada had brought up a lot of ex-countries, but none of their names were coming to me now. And even if they did, hadn't everyone already forgotten them? Gil was probably the most recent. It had only been five years and it was like he'd never existed in the first place. These other countries had hundreds of years for people to forget their existence.

I excused myself, walking into the kitchen and making more tea. The pot Roderich made was about as flavorless as tap water. So I began to make some more, but all the while, I was thinking back to my dream. To the individual parts that had been overshadowed.

My thoughts went back to the box, especially, the box that I owned as well. Even with its black and white surroundings, I could tell its color. It was a deep, midnight blue. I blinked, and the teapot slipped between my fingers and crashed onto the floor.

"Daniel?" Roderich called from the living room. "Are you alright?"

No; not a midnight blue. It wasn't a midnight blue. It was my favorite color, my favorite shade of blue . . . _his _color. And even in my shock, my daze, my lips parted and I muttered a single word.

"Prussia"

* * *

_**Though most of the conspiracy-ish parts have been covered, this story is not over yet. I have a lot more to cover. So, if you love this story, don't worry; if you hate it, sorry for the disappointment. **_

_**In Shades of Blue,**_

_**Ninja **_

_***BAGPIPES EXIT!***_


	13. Chapter 13

_**~ * ~ * Chapter Thirteen ~ * ~***_

It seemed oddly funny to me how familiar I was with the word 'Prussia.' Once the name had returned to me, so had every other history class I'd ever taken. But right now especially, Mrs. Goldschmidt's fifth grade history class seemed like forever ago.

The following morning, I'd apologized to my mother about nine times before leaving for school. Exhausted, I'd slept through geometry (which, I promise you, I don't _usually_ do, and I shouldn't have done, considering math is my worst subject) and rushed through the day as quickly as flipping through pages of a book.

"What's the hurry, DC?" Roxy asked, being the only one in my life to call me any sort of thing related to my told nickname. Roxy was . . . different. She wasn't like any girl I'd ever met, and for the longest time, I thought I was in love with her for it.

Though most girls were into long, curled locks intertwined with ribbons, Roxy would cut off her hair with safety scissors if you'd let her. And she did. Her parents were like mine: not poor, yet not wealthy, and they had no complaints about their daughter saving them money. So every time her hair got long, Roxy would grab a pair of scissors (or, one time, hedge trimmers) and cut her hair off at the jaw bone.

You would think she'd get teased for it, but no one, not even the boys, dared to. Roxy was the star baseball player, popular enough, and she'd once gotten suspended for breaking the arm of the boy who told her to join the softball team before she hurt herself. Another time, when I was in the fifth grade, a boy made fun of me for already having a job. After ripping a fistful of his hair out, Roxy promptly threw him in nearby dumpster after threatening to throw him in a lion cage if he _ever_ made me feel bad again. Though Roxy was a whole month younger than me, she was as strong and as agile as someone two years older than me.

"Nothing," I said with a shrug. "I just wanna get home"

"Don't we all," Toby sighed. I often found it odd that the three of us worked and connected in mysterious ways. There was me, who was confident enough to get by, yet nothing special. There was Roxy, bursting with confidence and the best batter on the team. And lastly, there was Tobias, who had the confidence of a broken seashell left in the rain.

However, I have a hard time seeing where Tobias' lack of self-respect even comes from. He isn't ugly. But whenever either I or Roxy pointed that out, he would just sigh and say. "I'm awfully_ plain_"

I never really saw him as 'plain' as I did 'subtle.' Since he was German, he had the typical blonde hair and blue eyes that you'd often see in one of these countries. I think his problem is that he sees the good in everyone to a point where he can no longer see the good in himself.

Take myself, for example. Every day I would sit next to him in science, our first block class, and say 'hi.' He'd respond to the greeting, but before I could start up a conversation, he'd say "I wish I had your eyes, Dan," or "I wish I could write like you, Dan" or "I wish I had your hair, Dan." I'd try to respond with something along those lines, like "I wish I had your brain" but he'd shrug it off and ignore the complement.

"I'm just busy after school," I said, opening my water bottle and taking a drink. "Work and all"

If either of my friends had said anything in response to that, I didn't hear them. The rest of the day seemed like a blur, moving shapes and colors that meant little to nothing to me.

I'd rushed home, kissed my mother on the cheek, and told her I was going to the library. She'd agreed only when I promised to take my backpack and do homework while I was there.

The nearest library was near center-city, about a five-to-ten minute bus ride. I ran inside, rushing to the front desk and asking for anything on the fall of Prussia.

That library taught me the meaning of the word 'disappointment.'

Sure, they had enough books, newspaper articles, and videos on the subject to make a historian's day. But all that stuff was political; Gil's picture didn't show up _once. _They had all sorts of pictures—of their president at the time, of their political party, of their land. Other countries showed up in the video—his brother, Germany; his closest allies, Spain and France; even people who he often fought with, such as Hungary and Roderich. But Gil's face didn't show.

"Excuse me," I called towards the librarian, Miss Austerlitz, who was only about twenty but was three times as old in spirit. "What do you have about the country of Prussia?"

Miss Austerlitz narrowed her eyes. "You're looking at it"

"No—I mean the stuff on the _country_," I said. "Like his personification? Don't you have any newspaper articles on him?"

Miss Austerlitz rolled her eyes. "I think you mean _Russia_. The nation of Prussia didn't get a personification"

I raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? I thought all countries had a personification"

"Not all," Miss Austerlitz sighed as if that was common knowledge and that I was just some idiot boy that was a whole _four years_ younger than she was. "Some didn't get one. Prussia isn't the only one, you know—the Holy Roman Empire, Sumer, Babylon, the list could go on."

"Why is that?" I asked, leaning forward a bit on my seat.

"How should I know?" Miss Austerlitz snapped. "Everything that we have on Prussia is right in front of you, enjoy it"

I sighed, looking through the papers. I'd given up on looking through the books and decided to go through the newspaper articles, starting back from when Prussia dissolved. Still nothing; there wasn't a single picture of him in an article about his death.

This was beginning to get hopeless. I wasn't good at research; hell, I wasn't even good at _studying_. I should've just asked someone who knew things, like Toby or maybe that guy with the glasses who lived with Ivan.

I was about to give up completely and just go home before I realized that I'd missed a book. _The Birth and Transformation of the Teutonic Knights_ was normal-sized, dull in color, and lacked any kind of enthusiasm. No wonder I'd skipped it.

Since I had nothing else to do, I picked up the book and read through it. Prussia used to be called the Teutonic Knights until they got the name changed for some reason; I just sort of skimmed through it. They got a shit-load of land when the Holy Roman Empire fell. They took over Europe by storm, once, but were kind of forgotten about when they became Prussia (if you ask me, the name 'Prussia' was just bad luck.)

None of that information really stood out to me, though, as much as the picture in the corner. There was a page filled with paintings, done to incredible detail and in full color. Of a family posing around a mother with a child in her lap—a little girl in a green dress—surrounding her being her husband, the man with the glasses, an albino man with his arms crossed, while a little boy in a priest-like outfit looked like he was reaching for the little girl's hand. It didn't take long for me to realize that it was Roderich's family. The woman was obviously Miss Hungary, and then the albino man had to be Gil. But who were the little girl and boy?

I shouldn't have been so preoccupied with the pictures, but it scared me. They were children, and they were with Roderich. Did that mean they were countries? If so, had they fallen, too?

But they didn't look like countries. The boy was always with the girl, and the girl always was smiling with a childlike innocent. If she was a country, there was no _telling_, how old she was. But she seemed so pure and happy, like a real child. I didn't want to think that she was dead. But there was only one person I could ask, just to be sure.

I made sure Miss Austerlitz wasn't looking as I ripped the paper out, quietly putting all the books away and running out of there at top speed.

* * *

"You're late," was the first thing Roderich said when I arrived, putting my backpack into his closet and pulling my uniform out of it. I was required to dress nicely—a suit-and-tie-like thing with cuffs around the sleeves. I desperately ran a comb through my hair, trying to make it neater.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, dusting off my uniform. "I was at the library; I'll get to making dinner"

There was no need, as the cooks had already prepared it. I thanked them graciously, and they each ruffled my hair or gave me a hug, laughing as I tried to make it look like I hadn't gotten hugged. I ran into the room, setting the food up and bowing. "Dinner, sir,"

Roderich nodded in response, but before I could walk away, he grabbed me by the sleeve. "Sit down with me"

I stared at him for a bit, and then pulled out a chair and sat next to him. He offered me food, but I declined, saying I had to eat when I got home. I let him finish eating before taking the pictures of the paintings out of my pocket.

"What's that?" Roderich asked.

"Pictures—I found them in the library," I said, pouring myself a cup of soda. Once my glass was filled, I pointed to the picture of the little girl and took a drink. "Who's she?"

Roderich stiffed a giggle, a smile beginning to form on his face. "That's Italy"

I choked on my soda, looking back at the picture and getting a better look at 'Italy's face. Just a minute ago I was one hundred percent sure that was a female. "_Really_?"

"Hungary thought he'd look cute if he wore her old dresses," Roderich bit his lower lip, doing everything in his power not to laugh. "It became a habit of his"

It took me a second to take all of that information in, before I shook the thought away and then pointed to the little boy (I was _sure_ that this one was a boy.) "What about him?"

That was when Roderich stopped laughing and got a confused look on his face. "I . . . I don't know. He doesn't seem familiar"

"But he's right there," I said, pointing to every part he'd shown up in all of the paintings. "See? He's almost always with Italy, too"

Roderich shrugged. "Perhaps Italy knows who he is, but I haven't seen him at any of the meetings"

I bit my lower lip. "This might help our search, you know. If what happened to that boy is like what happened to Gil, it could help us along. We could always ask Italy—"

"Could, uh," Roderich cleared his throat. "Could _you_ ask Italy? My—err—'son' and I don't always do well with these kinds of talks"

* * *

I didn't have to come up with another excuse for my parents, as this time, Roderich simply called and explained that he needed my assistance for a business trip to Italy. My mother had agreed happily, and you could hear my father's angry shouts in the background (angry shouts that eventually turned into desperate cries of 'don't to it, Dan!') the entire time. I calmly reminded him that this wasn't the first time I'd gone on a business trip with him and hung up before he asked any further questions.

I'd fallen asleep on the train ride to Italy, and I was shaken awake this time rather than having a book slammed on my face. In a way, I guess that meant Roderich was slowly getting to like me better. It was the little things I noticed, you see.

Apparently, Italy had gone home after living with Germany shortly after our visit. Italy was a sunny place, filled with laugher and singing and it smelled suspiciously of pasta sauce and flowers. Roderich had left to find a tea shop or something, so I simply looked for the address that Roderich had scribbled on a piece of paper before practically running away.

Italy lived in Venice, and I ended up making a fool of myself trying to ask a gondola owner to boat me over to his house in some very broken Italian. After ten minutes of effort, I discovered that he spoke English, and then he couldn't understand my accent, so I had to point to the address and then to the water until he understood.

The gondola owner turned out to be a total rip-off, considering he charged fifteen Liras for a five-minute ride. I think it was because I annoyed him by asking in my many languages and funny-sounding accents, so he charged me more. Or maybe that was the normal thing here, I didn't know. I simply paid and avoided trouble.

Vienna seemed like a backwards city in many ways to me. There seemed to be more rivers than roads here, and everyone road around on boats. Italy's own front door was right over a canal. I couldn't live like that; I'd go outside for school and end up going swimming.

The thought made me laugh. 'Goodbye, mom, I'm off to go to school' 'Ok, watch out for the river' 'The what—?' 'Fuck, Daniel, did you fall in again?!' I, in fact, found it so funny that I was giggling to myself when Italy answered the door.

Italy's face broke out into a smile. "Danny! What a nice surprise!"

"What—oh, hello," I smiled. "Can I come—?"

"Come in, come in!" Italy grabbed me by the wrist, dragging me inside and plopping me down in a nearby seat. My eyes darted around a bit, and he offered me lemonade, which I accepted only because I was already familiar with how good his drinks were.

"Can you put ice in it?" I asked, and the look on Italy's face suggested that I'd asked for something unholy. So I decided against it, and told him. "Never mind"

"What're you doing in Italy?" Italy asked, handing me my ice-less drink.

"I just wanted to talk to you," I tapped my fingers on the side of my glass. "We're still on the Gil—"

"Who?" Italy asked.

"The Albino guy we're looking for—his name is Gilbert," I said, looking down at the ground. "I call him 'Gil.' Anyways, we're still searching. I was wondering if you could answer a question for me"

Italy shrugged. "As long as I know the answer"

I took the picture out from my pocket, unfolding it and laying it on the table. I pointed to the little boy in the picture. "I was wondering if you knew who he was. Roderich doesn't know, but he seems to be near you all the time—"

Italy snatched the picture from my hand, running his hands over the paper. ". . . Where did you get this . . .?"

"The library," I answered. "It was in a book about the Teutonic Knights. Do you know who he is?"

Italy's lips parted, and he muttered. "I hate you"

I blinked. "Pardon?"

"_I hate you_!" Italy shrieked, slamming the picture on the table, and it was then I could tell that he was about to cry. "You're just a _human_, why do you keep getting involved in everything?! None of this is _any of your business_! Why can't you stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong?!"

Italy's outburst surprised me, and I simply sat there, staring at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. "I . . . I'm sorry . . .?" I wasn't sure what I'd done to offend him, but it was better to apologize, right?

Italy sighed, sitting down and running his hands through his hair. "No . . . I shouldn't have said that . . . you didn't do anything wrong . . ." he sniffled, tears beginning to spill from the corners of his eyes. ". . . I'm sorry . . ."

"It's ok!" I exclaimed, grabbing a blanket and pouring him a glass of lemonade. "I'm ok, really, I'm not offended. Please don't cry"

It's odd how he snapped at me and I was the one comforting him. Italy was a sensitive being, after all, and I knew for a fact that he didn't usually snap at people. I'd never heard him sound angry in his life. So whatever I made him remember, it wasn't anything good.

" . . . Holy Rome . . ." Italy muttered, and when I asked him what he meant, he looked up. "The Holy Roman Empire; that was his name."

"I thought the Holy Roman Empire didn't get a personification?" I asked, sitting down.

"Whoever told you that was wrong," Italy scoffed. I didn't even consider the possibility that Italy was wrong, especially next to age-confused Miss Austerlitz.

"Were you close?" I asked.

"I was in love with him," Italy muttered, not looking me in the eyes. That was a little piece of information I wasn't exactly asking for, but I simply averted my gaze and let out an "oh" as a response.

I waited a bit before asking my next question. "What happened to him?"

"Dead"

The answer came quickly to his lips, as if it were a natural instinct. That caught my attention. Not only did Italy remember this 'Holy Rome's existence, but he wasn't in denial of his death. That crushed both of my theories in a single hit, and it hadn't even been two full days since I proposed them.

"Oh?" I looked at him again. "I thought countries couldn't die"

Italy scoffed. "Danny, countries dying are like the pope retiring. It _could_ happen, but it probably won't"

"How . . . how did he die?" I treaded lightly on the subject.

"War," Italy shrugged. "He said he was going to come back," his face got red. "He kissed me, told me he loved me, and then left. He promised he'd come back, and ten years later, I figured out he was never going to"

You could see the pity on me as clearly as if someone had drawn the word on my forehead in marker. "I'm sorry"

"I'm over it," Italy shrugged.

I looked from the painting of Holy Rome to the picture Italy kept on the counter, one of Germany. I chuckled a bit, holding the painting up to Germany's picture. "They kind of look alike, don't they?"

"Huh?" Italy looked up, wiping tears from his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Mr. Germany and Holy Rome, they look practically identical," I said, pointing to the two of them. "They even have the same facial expressions. If Germany let his hair down, I'm sure they'd be twins"

The look on Italy's face said he was seeing the world in a whole new light, and he smiled at me. "Yeah . . . they do"

I think he figured out that I was trying to cheer him up, but it was a feeble attempt at most. All I did was point something out, but at least it was on a lighter note than what we were discussing before. Italy smiled at me, and then patted me on the back. "Don't ever change, Danny"

Five years after Gil said that to me, I still thought that was a stupid request. But, just as I had done all those years ago, I simply crossed my fingers behind my back and nodded. "Ok"

* * *

I wasn't sure what to do.

Going to find Roderich would be the right thing to do, but that would mean admitting defeat. Italy had proved that my theories were off by a longshot. Not only did he remember him, but he wasn't in denial of his death.

This wasn't adding up. Roderich didn't know who Holy Rome was, but Italy did. Roderich didn't remember who Gil was, and neither did Italy. Therefore Italy didn't have some kind of weird immunity to this kind of stuff.

I bit my lower lip, running a hand through my hair. I sighed, trying to make this connect in any way, but I couldn't. I'd hit a dead end.

"You shouldn't sit so close to the edge. You're going to fall"

I turned, seeing someone who looked a lot like Italy, but with a much grumpier aura to him. They looked a lot alike; except his hair was a shade or two darker and his eyes were green. Then tone in his voice told me he didn't care if I did or didn't fall in to the lake, but thought he'd get in trouble if he didn't warn me first.

"Oh," I scooted back a bit. "Thanks"

He made a face at my accent. "Oh, you're a _German_"

"Actually, I'm Austrian," I corrected him, narrowing my eyes. "I thought you'd know that, you spoke English to me"

"I thought you were a _tourist_," he scoffed. "Not some stupid German"

"Sorry for the disappointment," I muttered under my breath, deciding he wasn't worth my time. The man, apparently, thought differently.

"Have we met?" he asked.

"No," I answered, simply.

"You seem familiar," he continued, staring me down.

"We've never met," I responded.

"You look a lot like . . . . _ha_! You're that Austrian bastard's bastard aren't you? I should've known he'd have a brat, that slut—!"

"I'm not his son"

"Seriously? You look just like him. Except for your eyes, you've got—"

"Hungary's eyes, I know"

"Smart-ass," he scoffed. He paused before asking. "What's your name, kid?"

"Daniel," I answered. "Daniel Feiersinger. And you are?"

"The fuck kind of a name's 'Feiersinger'? I'm Romano," he scoffed, sitting down next to me. I really didn't want his company, and especially now, but I figured saying that would be rude.

"Pleasure," I said. There was another silence as I tried to think, but Romano made sure to kill that silence as soon as it was born.

"What're you thinking about?" he asked.

"Things"

"I mean what _kind _of things, dumbass"

I sighed. "Things that don't make sense"

"Like?"

I glared at him. "The Holy Roman Empire, I'm trying to figure out what happened to—"

"That bastard's long dead," Romano scoffed. "That's what he gets for flirting it up with my brother"

I narrowed my eyes. "Italy's your brother?" I said they'd looked alike, but still. Italy was sweet and kind and he cared for others. Romano was this annoying guy who cursed like a sailor. I couldn't really see the connection.

"Yeah, you know him?" Romano shrugged. "That idiot cried about him for years. I guess it was his goodbye that really got to _fratello_"

My eyes widened, and at that moment, all the puzzle pieces seemed to fit together. Holy Rome had said his goodbyes; he'd answered all of the questions and left nothing left unknown. He told Italy how he felt about him. He gave Italy _closure_.

Closure. That was it. Italy knew how Holy Rome felt about him; he wasn't left in the dark. So his death hurt him, of course it did, but at least there wasn't any regrets or 'I wish I told him how I really felt's. There was no reason for him to go into denial, because unlike Gil, Holy Rome had simply came out and told him before he died.

I jumped up, hugging Romano around the neck, shouting "_Romano, you're a genius_!" before dashing off to find Roderich.

"I know. Glad I could help"

* * *

_**Whew, this was long. **_

_**In Shades of Blue, **_

_**Ninja **_

_***BAGPIPES EXIT!***_


	14. Chapter 14

_**So things didn't go as planned and I ended up writing it this afternoon. And I say "this" meaning it was today's afternoon if you're reading this on Wednesday night. Not if you're reading this some other day. I don't have control over time (sort of quoted Josef Fink, the creator of 'Welcome to Night Vale,' but with different times than what he said.) So if this seems rushed or sloppy, sorry, I usually do this a day or two in advance. **_

_**~ * ~ * Chapter Fourteen ~ * ~ ***_

Dear readers, I believe it's about time I got into a more personal level with you. As of now, looking back at my youth and my time with Roderich, I know how easy it is not to tell you about the scene that is to come. I could dance around it, and tell you about the more important parts. But I feel you will get a better understanding of me when reading this.

Before I tell you anything, here is some helpful information.

While I was asking trying to figure out how to ask for a boat ride to Italy's house, a young boy and his boss had gotten off a train in Italy. The boy was only able to come because he'd completed all his schoolwork prior to asking if he could go.

Once landing, the boy's boss called his younger brother, for he was supposed to be staying there. The younger brother answered mere moments before his doorbell rang. He apologized heavily, saying he'd call him back after he saw who it was.

In this time, the boy was trying to catch up on his Italian. He'd figured he'd be set in Italy, given Italian was a root language to his native language, but soon found that it wasn't going to be that easy. He'd turned and asked if anyone knew where he lived, figuring they wouldn't have to ask for the little brother's directions that way. But since no one could understand him, they couldn't help.

About twenty or so minutes later, the boy's boss's phone rang. His little brother had had an encounter with an old acquaintance. He wasn't in a very good mood at the moment, and wouldn't be a good host. He'd done some heavy apologize, but the boss simply said it was ok, they'd figure something out.

They were able to find a hotel, and the boy had to get groceries for them to survive the week. His boss didn't like to send him out there by himself in a foreign country, but since it'd be a while until he went to the bank to get money to eat out, he had no real choice.

The boy had no idea where a grocery store was, so he stopped and asked an English-speaking waitress for directions at the very same café where Roderich was enjoying a midday tea, waiting for me to return for lunch. Since the café was rather full, the waitress was in a hurry. Her mind was also on the fact that she had to watch her little cousin after work. So, for that reason, she accidentally gave him directions that were slightly off.

To make matters worse, English wasn't the boy's first language. After taking the long way, he finally made his way to the grocery store. He'd bought everything on the shopping list, and met someone who was from his homeland and had a short conversation with them.

By the time he left the store, I was rushing over to the café. I had no idea which café Roderich was staying at, so I got a bit lost. Once I asked a nearby person who'd seen him eating at the _Spirito d'Italia_ Café, I decided to take the shortcut past the grocery store and get there faster.

To this day, I've considered the possibility that things could've gone differently. Maybe if he hadn't done his homework. Maybe if I'd asked the café Roderich was eating at prior to leaving. Maybe if I'd arrived at Italy's house a minute or so later than the phone call. Maybe if the café wasn't so packed, or if the waitress didn't have to watch her baby cousin. Maybe if I hadn't found that picture; if I'd never gone to Italy at all.

Whether or not it could've been different, it still happened the way it did.

I was running at top speed, just to make sure I'd get there in time, just when the boy was exiting the grocery store. I crashed into him, knocking all of the bags out of his arms. I stopped to help him pick them up, saying "Mi dispiace" in my thick, rather pathetic accent.

The boy looked up and squinted at me. "Daniel?"

"Antoine?" I asked.

It now seems to me like an odd, cruel twist of fate to have met him there and then. But at that particular moment, it was a stroke of luck. I offered a small smile. "Hi. How've you been?"

He looked at me like I was insane, which is understandable, given that the last time I checked, we hated each other. ". . . Fine"

"That's nice," I said, offering him my hand to help him up. I sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have fought you. It was irrational and unnecessary and I'm sorry"

Antoine stared at me for a longer time, and he swallowed. "Why are you telling me this now?"

I blinked. "What?"

"The World Meeting was over three weeks ago," Antoine was speaking through gritted teeth. "And you have my phone number. Why didn't you _call_ me to say you were sorry?"

I paused. "I wanted to say it person"

"Did you? Because here we are, meeting by chance in Italy," Antoine scowled. "You didn't even bother to try and meet with me?"

I gaped at him. I didn't see what he was getting all worked up about; I was apologizing, after all. "I just—"

"You just expected me to forgive you, huh?" Antoine snapped. "Is that it?"

"I'm saying 'sorry,' aren't I?" I exclaimed in response. "Why the hell are you getting all worked up about it?"

"Because you're not sorry!" Antoine bit his lower lip. "You're just getting it out of the way, because you just so _happened_ to meet me and you might need me to make some more phone calls for you!"

For a second I stared at him, and then found my words. "That's not it—"

"That's all it is," Antoine snapped. "You think you've got me wrapped around your finger, don't you? That you can show up by accident and apologize for something you don't think you did wrong, and that I'll just forgive you like that," he snapped his fingers. "You just don't stop taking advantage of me, don't you?"

"Who said I was taking advantage of you?!" I snapped. "You're being melodramatic—!"

"I am _not_!" Antoine snapped. "You knew exactly how I felt about you! That's why you kept asking me for favors, isn't it? Because you knew that I'd say yes! I had to lie for you on numerous occasions! You didn't even bother to tell me you were staying in Russia for the night even though you were completely capable of doing so, all because you knew that I wouldn't mind as long as I got you to talk to me!"

I blinked. It hadn't even occurred to me that I'd been taking advantage of him. I figured he'd been the smarter choice. "I wasn't taking advantage of you; you were just the smartest choice"

"Don't you have friends?" Antoine raised an eyebrow.

"Well, yeah, but . . ." I gulped. Why_ hadn't_ I'd asked Roxy or Toby? "My mom knows what they sound like—"

"That's bullshit," Antoine spat. "You asked me because you _knew_ I'd agree"

I considered the thought for a moment. I'd picked Antoine without a second thought, I hadn't even thought of asking Roxy or Toby, and they probably would have agreed. Especially Roxy, she's practically like a big sister to me. And when I was in Russia, I hadn't once thought of Antoine, who'd done the favor thoughtlessly from the goodness of his heart. "That's not true—"

"That's just what you do, isn't it?" Antoine growled. "You get people to trust you. To get them to love you, only so they'll tell you what you want to know, do know what you want them to do. And then you forget all about them. You don't care about anyone but yourself"

"That's not true!" I snapped. "You don't even know what you're talking about!"

"Oh, yeah?" Antoine scowled. "You worked for two countries, both of which loved you to death only for you to leave when a better opportunity came around. You help them through personal problems without asking for a penny in return. Wouldn't that look good on a college application? Isn't that all you're doing this for? _Your_ future?"

I paused, scowling. "So what? I wanna get into college"

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to get into college, but it is wrong to not give a damn about the people you step on to get there," Antoine growled. "Everyone just thinks that you're such a great person when you're not. Even at the world meeting, you fought me because I said something you didn't want to hear"

That was when I had enough of him. I lurched forward, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and causing him to drop all of his grocery bags. "I swear to God, if you open your mouth one more time, I will beat the living snot out of you. And you know I'm not scared to"

Antoine didn't look the least bit frightened. With his face as cold and emotionless as a slab of rock, he said. "What? Are you gonna hit me for saying something you didn't like again?"

There was an awkward pause, as I let go of his shirt and he staggered backwards. Antoine straightened his posture before asking. "Who're you doing all of this for?"

"What?" I asked.

"This, the whole search on Gilbert, who're you doing it for?" Antoine asked. "Certainly not Gilbert, he's dead. Not for Roderich, you're just going to leave him for a so-called 'better opportunity.' Then who?"

I stared at him, only because I didn't have answer for him. He'd addressed the only possibility I had. Gilbert was dead—it didn't matter if I found that letter or not. I was going to quit after I helped him find his letter, so it wasn't for Roderich. Who _was_ I doing all of this for?

"Just as I thought," Antoine spat. "You're doing it for _yourself_. You feel guilty about his death, and you're trying to make yourself feel better because you can't move on if you don't," he dusted himself off, picking up his grocery bags. "You don't care about anyone but yourself"

I watched him walk away, with nothing to say. Some of you, dear readers, may believe that he's wrong. Maybe you know he's wrong. Or maybe, like me, some of you may know that he was absolutely right.

And the other half of you, the section of you that believe that I am a good person, maybe be in shock. Fourteen chapters through my narrative, and yet, you may not see me as such a horrible person. Maybe you're going back to later chapters and looking for hints of my selfishness.

And for those of you who can't find one, here is one hint. In my fight with Antoine, I never once mentioned his injuries. I said that _I_ had a black eye, and that I had beaten him up, but never once did I describe his injuries, though he must've had some if my eye was blackened. For those of you who may be saying that there was no way I could be inconsiderate, you can go back to chapter ten and see for yourself.

Another thing in chapter ten was that I _did_ attack him for saying something I didn't like. He did shove me, but he tried to apologize. He asked me if I was ok, and I responded by shoving him into some chairs. I didn't _want_ him to be sorry. I was angry at him, and he was supposed to be angry at me. After what he said to me, I _wanted_ to fight him. It was a shallow, selfish reason to hurt someone, but I had done it.

Though I accepted that fact, as selfish as I was, I didn't try to prove him wrong. Not when he talked to me like that. I simply ran around the other side of the grocery store so I wouldn't have to follow him.

And I'll tell you this right now; it would be many months before I would even be able to say his name again.

* * *

"What took you so long?" Roderich asked as I took a seat across from him.

"I got lost," I answered simply, picking up my menu. "I saw Italy"

"What did he say?" Roderich asked.

"His name is the Holy Roman Empire—he's dead," I told him, ordering a soda and asking specifically for ice. The waitress looked annoyed rather than horrified, which I supposed was better than Italy's reaction. "Italy knew exactly who he was and what happened to him"

Roderich paused, staring down at his empty plate. "How peculiar"

"Yeah, not really," I sat forward in my chair. "I have another theory"

"Oh, joy,"

"Please listen,"

"Alright, Daniel; convince me,"

I took in a breath, making my fork do a little dance on the surface of my plate. "In all of my dreams they've said something. If that doesn't convince you, all the people we talked to talked about the same thing—a letter. He wrote one and he really wanted someone to get it"

"And?" Roderich was obviously getting impatient.

"I think Italy remembers who Holy Rome is because Holy Rome said his goodbyes, he was able to give Italy some closure," I said. "But Holy Rome and Gil are two very different people. Holy Rome could come out and say what he wanted to say—Gil couldn't. Maybe he was too prideful or maybe he was embarrassed—we'll probably never know. But since he couldn't say it, he wrote us letters so we wouldn't forget him. I found mine in the castle. Now we just need to find yours"

Roderich thought for a moment. "I suppose that makes sense. But we still don't have a lead"

"We do," I sat forward in my seat just as the waitress arrived with my drink. I thanked her, and then waited her to leave before continuing our conversation (a little quirk of mine.) "You're the lead"

"_Me_?" Roderich gulped. "We've established the fact that my memory has been erased"

"Sir, you've got to remember something," I sighed. "You knew him better than I did. You've got to remember something. Just think for a moment"

Roderich sat there, hands folded in front of his face and covering his mouth and chin. I could tell he was trying his hardest, but he didn't seem to have some sort of miraculous epiphany of some sort. The waitress brought us our food, and we ate in silence, with Roderich simply staring at the world around him. He tapped his fingers on the table, bit his lower lip, and ran his fingers through his hair.

"What're you doing?" I asked.

He took his teeth off of his bottom lip for a mere moment. "That's what you always do when you're thinking," he said, and then returned to biting his lip and running his hand through his hair multiple times. When a bit of blood began to trickle down his chin, I told him that that was enough.

Roderich sighed. "I can't really think of anything," he gripped the tablecloth. "Dammit, why couldn't he have just told me?"

I shrugged. "He's good. But maybe he isn't _that_ good. I mean, if your world was about to end, what would you even tell someone?"

Roderich's eyes widened, staring down at his own reflection in his glass. He kept staring like that for much longer than I found comfortable—about twenty or so minutes wasted while competing a staring contest with a cup. Suddenly, he slapped a wad of money on the table, grabbed me by the wrist, and ran out of the café.

"What the—?" I exclaimed, as he continued dragging me over to the car. "But I wasn't finished eating!"

He practically threw me into the front seat of the car, and I scrambled to sit myself upright while he sat in the driver's seat. His hands were on the steering wheel, and he simply stared ahead. The car wasn't even on.

"Daniel," he said, after what seemed like too long. "These dreams of yours—you say that they're always in black and white?"

"Yes," I answered. "When they're memories, that is"

"If my psychological brain is similar to yours, I think I know where to go," Roderich started up the car, and then drove down the streets of Venice.

"Oh, is it in Italy?" I asked, considering he hopped us inside a car.

"No," he responded.

I raised an eyebrow. "Where're we going, then?"

"Someplace far away," Roderich answered.

"Where's that?"

"I'm not sure,"

"Do you even know what _country_ we're going to?"

"We're going back to Austria,"

"We're _driving_ back to Austria? Why don't we just buy a train ticket?!"

"Not enough time,"

"Yet we have time to _drive to Austria_?"

"Just trust me, Daniel,"

I thought for a moment, of all the times he'd relied on my word alone. Then again, my word at least had us taking a train. I sighed, shrugged, and leaned back on my chair. "I trust you"

"Go to sleep," Roderich commanded, and when I'd asked him why, he replied with what could be the strangest thing I've ever heard. "You might have another one of those memory-dreams of yours. I could use a little help right now"

I've never been told to go to sleep on the job, but needless to say, I didn't complain.

* * *

"_Hello!"_

_Eight years old, sweat beading down my forehead and panting heavily. I had a traveler's backpack on me, a bandanna in black and white with some sort of eagle on it wrapped around my head to keep my hair out of my eyes, and tennis shoes with the laces tied five or six times just to keep them from falling off. _

_I smiled, laughing like nobody's business, and shouted another word into the cave. "HELLLOOOOO!"_

_This time, my voice echoed, and was thrown back at me. I laughed at the sound, and then crawled to the side of the cave. "Gil! Come look at this!"_

"_I can hear you from down here," was Gil's snide reply. I could tell that he regretted taking me here in the first place. I wasn't the first up the mountain—that was Mr. Germany, with Mr. Switzerland following. Both of them had offered to carry Miss Liechtenstein, but she'd refused. The last ones to make it up were Gil and Roderich, who both looked exhausted. _

"_Hurry up!" I exclaimed, jumping up and down a bit. I climbed down a bit, reaching out my hand towards him. Gil almost took it, before Roderich snapped that he weight twice and much as I did and that he was going to pull me down the mountain. _

_I thought that idea was funny. I even pretended to jump, just to scare him. Roderich nearly had a heart attack. And when I tripped and fell down the side for real, he pretty much did. I think he would've died if Gil hadn't caught me. _

"_Danny, what's wrong with you?" Gil snapped, checking me over for wounds. "You could've died!"_

"_I didn't mean to," I muttered. "I was only playing"_

_Right after Roderich nearly strangled me with a hug and kissed every one of my bruises, he gave me the scolding of my life. I cringed, repeating over and over again that I hadn't meant to fall and I wouldn't do it again. On the bright side, Roderich made Gil carry me up the rest of the mountain. I felt like a king. _

_Hiking trips like these up the Swiss Alps are usually reserved for the Germanics, until Roderich and Gil convinced the others to let me come along. Liechtenstein didn't need much convincing—she thought I was the cutest thing in the world. Germany didn't really care, but Switzerland found hiking his mountains with him to be a privilege. He was outnumbered, but I swear he tried to push me off the mountain at least twice. I found it ironic that the only time I fell; it was because I practically jumped. _

_It was snowing at the top of the mountains, and I complained loud enough that I was cold. Roderich scolded me for not packing warm clothes, but gave me his mittens all the same. Since I had a jacket, I figured the mittens were enough, and ran off before he could say anything else on the subject. _

"_Gil!" I shouted. "Come on, let's make snow angels!"_

"_You go ahead, I'll catch up," Gil responded, lingering behind. I would have much rather played with Gil, but I found Liechtenstein to be a suitable playmate. She was much closer to my age than anyone else here was, that was for sure. _

"_They really like you," she whispered to me while we decorated our snow angels with finger designs of hearts and stars. _

"_They have to," I shrugged. "I work for Rod—I mean, Mr. Austria"_

"_No, I mean they really, _really_ like you," Liechtenstein giggled. "They treat you as if you're their son. I mean, you do kinda look like Roddy"_

"_Really?" I looked from Roderich, and then tried to imagine the me I saw in the mirrors back home. "I don't see it"_

"_You do! I mean, of course you don't have red eyes like Gil's," Liechtenstein shrugged. "But your face is shaped like his and your hair is messy like his"_

_I tried to consider the possibility, but to me it seemed ridiculous. I was only an employee. "I don't think so. They aren't married. And they're both boys."_

"_I'm not saying they had you," Liechtenstein giggled. "I just think it's a cute coincidence"_

"_I guess," I said. When I looked back, Gil and Roderich were still talking. From my point of view, it looked like they were holding hands; but I can't be so sure. And what if they were? Roderich did give me his mittens, after all. And if they were a bit too close for comfort? It was cold out. My innocent mind came up with all sorts of excuses to deny the obvious. _

"_Gil!" I shouted. "C'mon, please play with us!"_

"_I'm coming!" Gil shouted, and gave Roderich a quick peck on the cheek before running over._

* * *

A dream.

That's all it was.

Black and white or not, it was just a _dream_.

_It was a nice dream, though. _

When I woke up, I was in the backseat of the car with a jacket draped over me. Roderich was still driving, except he suspiciously wasn't wearing his jacket. I didn't know where we were, but maybe we'd crossed the border back into Austria by now. I doubted that though; I couldn't have been asleep for that long, and even if I was, Roderich would have had to stop at least once, right?

Thinking of this Roderich and the one who'd kissed eight-year-old me's bruises, I couldn't see a connection. That Roderich smiled and held hands with Gil and seemed to care about me. This Roderich had a face of stone and treated me like an employee.

_A dream_, I thought, resting my head back down, my eyes fluttering shut. _Just a dream_.

* * *

_**That's it for this week; I can't wait to see you again next week. **_

_**In Shades of Blue, **_

_**Ninja**_

_***BAGPIPES EXIT!***_


	15. Chapter 15

_**I got this chapter written earlier this time.**_

_** So I got a few reviews asking if Daniel was homophobic. I myself haven't thought of him as homophobic, but I guess that's up to you and how you see his actions. Also, keep in mind that homophobia is a big problem** _now**_. This story takes place in the 1950s. _**

_**~ * ~ * Chapter Fifteen ~ * ~ ***_

_Have you ever had those dreams where nothing seems to fit in a certain chronological order? Dreams where the scenes just sort of fall apart, one into another, in a way that makes little to no sense at all? Well, I was currently having one of those dreams. _

_When the dream started out, I was around twelve years old. Mom's calendar—the one on the fridge—said it was January, 1948. I was fully dressed, sitting at the kitchen counter and making my own lunch. _

_My mom entered the kitchen, still in her bathrobe, and smiled at me. "You're making your lunch?" _

"_Yeah," I shrugged, sticking my lunchbox in my backpack. _

"_You didn't even wake me up?" she asked. _

"_I didn't want to bother you," I said, opening the fridge and filling up my water bottle. I walked over to the door, my hand on the doorknob. "I'm off. Love you; bye"_

"_Danny, can we talk for a moment?" my mother called, and I sat down across from her. _

"_I'm going to be late," I said. _

"_You'll be fine," she reassured me. _

"_No, I won't. It takes me about five minutes to walk there. If you talk to me for three minutes, I might be late—"_

_My mother laughed. "You're much too responsible for a twelve-year-old," my mom gulped. "Danny . . . I don't think you should work anymore"_

"_What?" my eyes got wide. "But I just got used to everything, and I love working"_

"_I know, but . . ." my mom sighed. "You've been spending so much time over there, and I'm beginning to get worried. And those men that keep inviting you places—"_

"_Gil and Roderich are really nice people," I said in their defense. "They take me places for free because I work all the time. It's nice of them"_

"_That white-haired fellow hasn't been inviting you places lately, not since you saw that movie," my mom said. "Whatever happened to him?"_

"_I don't know, it's been a while," I shrugged. "Sooner or later, Roderich is going to want to go out and look for him. I'll find out then. Love you; _Auf Wiedersehen_"_

_As I opened the door, the scene seemed to melt away and turn into shadows. There was me, and I knew it because I looked like myself. And I mean as I usually do, sixteen years old in my normal clothes. I stood for a moment in the darkness, waiting for something to happen. _

"_. . . Daniel . . ."_

_I turned towards the sound of my name, which was distant and soft. I walked towards the sound, though I wasn't sure if I was going forward or backwards, left or right, up or down. I made no sound, because I knew I wasn't supposed to. _

"_Daniel,"_

_My body lost its age, as my eyes seemed to get bigger, my hair got shorter, my legs shorter, and my clothes changed. Light shone in my face, bright enough to blind someone. I shielded my eyes, and when I blinked, I was no longer surrounded by darkness. _

_It looked like I was at a festival, but I haven't been to a festival in forever. I was eight, in a shirt with an eagle on it; the same eagle that was on my bandanna the other time, in my last dream. _

_I've always wanted to be one of those guys with the giant stuffed animals at festivals. You know, those big buff guys carrying around teddy bears that are about as big as they are? And instantly, they're the cool guys. And you know how talented they are and you go "their girlfriend must be so happy to have a boyfriend who can win one of those for her." _

_I've _always_ wanted to be one of those guys. _

_I was in front of one of those booths, with a baseball in one had. Judging by the overly annoyed look on the guy's face, this must've been the fourth or fifth time I tried to win that dumb bear. It looked extra fluffy and had a little bowtie. I've never wanted anything more in my life (or, so eight-year-old me thought.)_

_I threw, and missed, and threw, and missed, and the disappointing chain of events continued until I didn't have any game money left. I sighed, and the guy behind the counter sighed with me. "Better luck next time, kid,"_

_I stuck my hands in my pockets, telling myself that the bear wasn't worth it. Gil must've seen my disappointment, and asked me what was wrong. When I told him it was because I couldn't win a bear, he looked as if the guy behind the booth was to blame. The poor fellow looked terrified (I don't see how anyone could blame him, especially with Gil's German features and red eyes.) _

"_Don't," Roderich muttered. "No one wins those games; you're wasting your time._

"_Don't tell me what to do!" Gil snapped, and then followed that up with a nervous smile and a whispered. "I love you, sweetie," before paying the man behind the booth a bit of his weird sounding money—five Reichsthalers. He drew back his hand, threw, and knocked down three stacks of bottles. _

_Still terrified, the man practically threw the bear at him before hiding behind the booth. Gil smirked like a champ, handing me the bear. I laughed, thanked him for it about a billion times, and then ran off to pretend as if I won it. _

"_Excuse me, child," a woman stopped me, giving me a horrified look. "Is one of those men your father?"_

"_No," I answered. "I'm just his assistant"_

"_To both of them?" her eyes were wide. _

"_No, just him," I said, pointing. "The one with the glasses and the curl."_

"_Are they . . . related? Are they brothers?" she asked. _

"_No," I answered. _

"_Are they coworkers?" _

"_You could say so; they're both countries."_

"_Oh, thank the Lord,"_

"_Can you keep a secret?" I giggled, making a motion for her to come closer. She bent down, and I got to my tiptoes, cupped by hands over my mouth, and whispered. "I think they're in _love_"_

"_Don't be ridiculous, child!" the woman snapped much too harshly, jumping to her feet and giving me a dirty look. "They're both men; it's ungodly!"_

"_I don't see why," I muttered. "I thought being in love was a good thing"_

"_Not when you're one of _those _kinds of people," I didn't like her tone of voice. It was as if they were some new species of spider, and that just looking at them could infect you. _

"_Why do you care?" I asked, and before she could answer, Gil grabbed me by the hand and dragged me off. I looked back at her and stuck out my tongue, as if that meant I'd won. She didn't look terribly offended, and I didn't know why. _

"_I don't want you arguing with strangers," Gil grumbled. _

"_But she was being mean," I whined. "She doesn't even know you. Why was she being so . . . so . . . so horrid about you and Roderich?"_

"_Daniel . . ." Gil sighed. "You're not old enough to understand"_

"_I am, too!" I snapped. "I'm eight-and-two-quarters, I can understand a lot!" _

_Gil rubbed the back of his neck. "How do I put this . . ." he looked at me, and then bent down. "It's like . . . ok, just for moment, let's pretend I don't know you. Like we just met" _

"_Ok," I nodded. _

"_So I just met you, and I don't like you because you have green eyes," Gil continued, and when I look at him with a horrified face, he added quickly. "I don't really, this is just hypothetical. But let's say I'm convinced you're a bad person because of your green eyes, and nothing is going to convince me otherwise" _

"_But that's not fair!" I exclaimed. "I can't help it!"_

"_Exactly," Gil said. "It's called being 'prejudice.' And it's wrong" _

"_Why don't you go there and tell her that?" I muttered. _

"_It doesn't work like that," Gil sighed. "Now, if one person didn't like you because of your green eyes, it's wrong. But what if a whole bunch of people didn't like you because you had green eyes. Do you think anyone would stand up to them?" _

_I thought about it for a moment, and then shook my head. "No. Why do they get away with it?"_

_Gil scoffed. "You'd be surprised with how much you can get away with when you slap the words 'it's my beliefs' on them," Gil put a hand on my shoulder. "Look, just don't be like one of those people. If you know something is wrong, don't put up with it." _

"_How will I know?" I asked. _

"_It's just common sense sometimes," Gil shrugged. "If it looks wrong and it feels wrong, and you know in your heart that it's wrong; then that means it's wrong"_

_I nodded; Gil offered me his hand and I took it. _

_At that moment, my hand slipped out of his grip. But even though I wasn't walking with him, he kept walking on without me. I simply stood there, watching him walk away. That's when it started to get dark again, the background fading and Gil walking out of my vision. But the darkness didn't bother me; my face expressionless. _

"_Daniel!"_

_When I turned, I wasn't eight years old anymore. I was normal self, sixteen years old again and sitting at my kitchen table. I was playing around with a couple of quarters, staring at them for a bit before I shoved them into my pockets. "_Mutti_, I'm going to work!" _

"_Danny—look at what I found," my mother ran down the stairs, holding a picture in her hand. It was a picture of me when I was eight, smiling at the camera with an oversized teddy bear in my arms. I looked so proud of myself. _

"_Would you look at that?" I smiled, taking the photo from her. "That's from when I went to the festival, right?" _

_My mother nodded. "I took it when you came home with that gigantic monstrosity. Do you still have it?" _

_I specifically remembered having that giant bear in my room, perched up on one of the chairs in the back, but I denied owning it and smiled as if winning it was but a distant, childish memory. "I was so happy when I won that bear." _

_My mom's eyes got distant, and she just stared at the picture. "Yeah . . . you won that bear . . ."_

"_Are you ok?" I asked. _

"_I . . . it's funny but, I don't remember you winning that bear," my mom bit her lower lip. "I remember you coming home and you would not stop talking about how so-and-so won that bear for you, but I wasn't supposed to tell Luka or Annika because you wanted them to think better of you."_

"_So-and-so?" I asked. _

"_For whatever reason, I can't seem to remember their name," my mom snapped her fingers. "But you thought that they were just the best person ever."_

"_Mom, I went to that festival by myself," I said, raising an eyebrow. "You let me walk there on my own, and Annika and Luka had homework. I met up with Roxy and Toby the end of the night? I won that bear by myself"_

"_Did . . . did you? Are you sure?" my mother looked genuinely confused. _

"_Mom, you've been stressed lately," I said, patting her on the back. "Get some rest"_

"_O . . . ok," she nodded. "I love you,"_

"_Love you, too," I said, and I grabbed the picture, shoved it inside my wallet, and then proceeded to leave for work._

* * *

When I awoke, the car was stopped, but the engine was still on. I was curled up in the backseat, and Roderich's jacket was missing. I guess he wasn't planning for me to wake up that first time.

Slowly, as to not indicate that I was awake, I'd reached for my wallet. I kept a number of pictures in there, and I don't quite know why. Maybe to cheer me up or bring back memories when I was bored. Flipping through them, I found it. The picture of an eight-year-old me, proudly using all of my strength to hold up a bear that'd I'd won.

My mom remembered Gil before I did, and she didn't even know it. Sure, she called him 'so-and-so,' but she'd gotten a fragment of who he was months before I did. Though that was a bit disappointing to know, at least my theory was correct.

I climbed out of the car, putting my wallet back in my pocket. Rather than a parking lot, Roderich had parked the car in the middle of a field. I looked up, and the sky was still pitch-black, glittering with stars and a single, crescent moon.

"You're up," Roderich said, and he was perched on the hood of his car. "Any dreams?"

I shrugged. "Nothing to do with Gil"

What I'd dreamt about wasn't anything important, and nothing I felt comfortable telling him about. When he gestured that it was ok to, I climbed onto the hood of the car and sat down next to him. I looked around a bit.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Outskirts of Wörgl," Roderich answered. Vienna was in Vienna (it sounds stupid to say, but I can't help it when the state and the capital city share the same name) and Wörgl was in Tyrol. We were a long ways from home.

"How long did it take you to drive here?" I asked. "How long was I out?"

"Long enough"

I left it at that, simply looking up at the sky. And for a good long moment, I let the silence stay. The newfound silence allowed us to get away from the present, even just for a moment. It was a chance to get away from the drama, from the memories, from the last words of dead men and whatever the future held. For a long while, we sat there, far from the city lights of Vienna and from Italy's tears, the ones Roderich didn't even know I caused him to shed. For a moment, nothing was going on, and it was perfect. I didn't know how much I loved it the simplicity of doing nothing at all until the option was given to me.

The moment ended too soon, and I knew I had to make it end. "What're we doing here?"

Roderich smiled a bit. "Did you know that we all thought the world was going to end in the year one thousand?"

"One thousand?" my eyes widened. "Like AD? You were alive back then?"

"I was really little," Roderich shrugged. "Around that time, me, Gil, and Hungary grouped up here because we were gonna meet the apocalypse face-to-face and spit in its eye. Well, more accurately, _they _were going to beat up the apocalypse. They swore they'd protect me"

I smiled. "I take it the world didn't end?"

"Gil was incredibly disappointed," Roderich stifled a laugh. "But we always sort of back came here afterwards," he looked down, kicking his feet back and forth. "It's weird. These memories are just coming back to me, one by one. And once they're back, they seem so natural. And I feel like a complete idiot for forgetting them in the first place"

"You'll get used to it," I told him. I liked this feeling of being the old-and-wise one for once. I looked up at the stars, recognizing a few constellations. "Do you think he hid a box here?"

"He might've," Roderich admitted. "It was a stupid instinct to just _come_ here, though. It's a big field. I have no idea where he might've left it"

"It's not like him to just leave it anywhere, that'd be stupid," I said. "There'd be no possible way for you to find it. He'd have to have left it somewhere that you're familiar with"

"Look around," Roderich scoffed. "It's all grass"

I thought for a moment. "Did you guys have any sort of special spot?"

Roderich raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"Y'know, a spot," I said, leaning back a bit. "Whenever I meet up with my friends in the park, we always sit in the same spot. I don't know if it's an instinct or something, but we don't even have to tell each other, we just sit there"

Roderich narrowed his eyes. "You can't _possibly_ expect me to remember.

He had a point. What were the chances that he'd remember a spot that he sat in back in one thousand _AD_? I wasn't sure to what I should've done, but I simply shrugged and said. "Go sit down."

"Where?" Roderich asked.

"Anywhere,"

Roderich jumped down, and then walked over to a place a bit farther out and sat down in the middle of the field. I walked over, and then patted the ground next to him. "Doesn't the dirt feel funny to you?"

"What do you mean?" Roderich asked.

"Look—here, the grass just stops," I patted the dirt a bit more. "And it's a different color than everything else. C'mon, help me dig," we were both on our hands and knees, digging at the ground like animals. By the time we actually hit something, my face was smeared with dirt and it was all over my pants.

"Gotcha," I muttered, taking the box out. It was a deep, Prussian blue, just like mine and Antoine's. Roderich's eyes were filled with anticipation, waiting to read what his letter said. And who could blame him? A lifetime in a letter, all it was all about what they thought about you. And what someone truly thinks of you is something everyone wants to read about.

I opened it, and grabbed the letter. Instantly, the smile faded off of my face. "It . . . it's not for you . . ."

Roderich paled, his eyes losing their excitement. ". . . What?"

I held up the letter, in which the words _Elizaveta Héderváry _were written across the front of the envelope. "We . . . we found Miss Hungary's letter . . ."

It didn't take long for the disappointment to set in. After a trip to Italy, me missing two days of school, and so many hours in a car, we found someone else's letter. Roderich looked about twice as sad as I did, but even so, he looked up and gave me one of those rare smiles of his. "I suppose you should deliver it to her, shouldn't you?"

* * *

Roderich wanted to mail the letter, but I insisted that it'd get there faster if I took a train to Hungary and gave it to her in person. Well, not in person. I was planning to leave it in her mailbox and run.

After writing her address on the back of my hand, Roderich wished me good luck and told me that he'd call my parents and tell them that I was doing him an errand and that I'd be back by tomorrow. I just knew that my father would be _overjoyed_.

The train stopped after what felt like forever, and I walked into Budapest for the first time. If there were any ups to this Wild Goose Chase, it was that I got to go to a lot of places I'd never thought I'd get to go to.

Once I got to her house, however, I couldn't bring myself to put the letter where it was supposed to go. My hand stopped, it was as if some unknown force wasn't letting me walk away from this.

Gripping the letter in my hands, I ran. I ran into the nearest park, dashing to someplace excluded. Someplace where there weren't any people, no one in sight. I was tempted to hide under the bridge, but I figured leaning against the tree was enough.

Carefully opening the envelope, so I could put the seal back together later, I began to read.

* * *

_**Next chapter will be up next hump-day. **_

_**In Shades of Blue,**_

_**Ninja **_

_***BAGPIPES EXIT!* **_


	16. Chapter 16

_**~ * ~ * Chapter Sixteen ~ * ~ ***_

The first thing I noticed about the letter was the handwriting. It started off much messier than the handwriting that was in my letter, and it continued to get neater as the letter progressed. It was as if he wanted to get this letter over with. That or he didn't quite know how to start it.

_Elizaveta,_

_If there's anyone who wouldn't have trouble forgetting me, it's you. Remember that one time I left for a two week vacation, and when I came back you hit me in the head with a frying pan for trying to enter your house? Of course you don't. But no doubt you're thinking 'that does sound like me, though.'_

_So let me refresh your memory. My name is Prussia, though you've always known me as either 'Gilbert' or 'douchebag.' I'm 5'9, 5'10 if I straighten my posture. I'm an albino and you've always made fun of me for it, but I think it makes me look awesome. I own a pet chick, named Gilbird, and _yes_, that's his real name. _

I grunted in annoyance. Why couldn't he have said this earlier, maybe in _my_ letter?

_Now that you remember who I am, let's get to the hard part. First off, I hate you. _

That bit kind of surprised me. By the way Roderich described his childhood, it seemed like him, Prussia, and Hungary were the best friends you could meet.

_Secondly, I love you. _

_You're probably very confused right now. So let me explain. _

_Ever since day one, everything was a competition between me and you. That was partly my fault, and partly yours. It was always simple things when we were little; who could run faster, who could eat more, who could jump higher, and who could fight better. Most of the time, I'll admit, you won. But there was one thing I wasn't gonna let you win. _

_When we were little, I really trusted you. You told me everything and I told you everything. But I may have gone too far that time. _

It seemed like Gil was jumping from emotion to emotion on this letter. First, he said he hated Elizaveta. Then he loved her. And now, by his description, it did seem like he had a complex love-hate relationship with her. She beat him at everything, yet he told her his deepest, darkest secrets.

_I was polishing my sword, and you were brushing your hair. I looked up, I gulped, and said. "Can I tell you a secret?"_

_You looked at me, and shrugged. "You always do" _

"_I think . . . I like someone . . ." I mumbled. And let me tell you ahead of time, I did not like you. Don't get so full of yourself. You're pretty, Liza, but you're not _that_ pretty. _

"_Oh?" you turned to me and smirked. "Who?"_

_I didn't answer, but I nodded towards Roderich. I hope you know that I very well would've said his name, but he was right there, and I had no intention of him knowing. You saw my secret message, and laughed. "Seriously?"_

_I turned a bright shade of red. "Shut up"_

_I don't blame you for what you said next. After all, kids are cruel. Crueler than most war generals would ever hope to be. We don't even know why kids are so cruel, they just are. But it did take me a long time to get over what you said, which was the following: "Too bad, he likes _me_"_

_That might not seem so cruel to you, but you should've heard your tone of voice. You weren't even joking; you had this serious tone that told me that I had no chance with him. It was a natural instinct of mine to believe you, and you knew it. _

_Therefore, you started yet another competition with me: a competition named Roderich. _

It's sad how much modern day information can ruin old letters. Roderich and Elizaveta were married twice, and I was around for that second marriage. Both parties seemed happily married, smiling and kissing each other's cheeks with no memory of a third person who loved Roderich just as much as she did. No memories of someone who may have loved him even more than she did.

_You won._

_At first I lied to myself about it, but his affections were obvious. Roderich followed you around like a lost puppy. He'd do anything for you, from favors to jumping in front of a bullet for you (that was _one_ time). It took me forever to realize it, but he loved you. There was nothing I could do about it. _

_I was there at your wedding, you know. Maybe now you're flipping back through some old wedding pictures of yours and you'll see an albino guy with a sour look on his face in the background. Then again, maybe you've noticed this man before, but you've never quite understood who he was. Well, congrats. Now you know. _

I never thought about how Roderich and Elizaveta's first marriage must have affected Gil. I tried to put myself in his shoes, watching the person I'd loved for years marry someone else. The secondhand emotions hit me faster than I thought they would; stuff like hopelessness, sadness, and anger.

_I hated you for that, I hope you know. I still hate you for that. With full knowledge that I still loved him, you went ahead and married him. You still had all that childish cruelty in you, and so did I. _

_The day you two got divorced was the happiest day of my life, and it ended too soon when you got two married for a second time. That was when I went too far. _

I gulped. This was it; if that dream of mine was a reality or not. But if it was, why in the world would he tell Roderich's ex-wife about his affair with him?

_Roderich did love me, Elizaveta. Not you. He never loved you. _

That wasn't true. Roderich never would have married Elizaveta if he never loved her, not even once. I realized then that Gilbert really was a child; just as cruel and hopeless as he used to be.

_You were just there, a cover story. While your marriage happening onstage, he was seeing me behind the curtain. If that makes me his mistresses, I was proud to be one. In my mind, at the time, that meant I was winning. For once, I was winning against you. _

_A little earlier, Roderich got a new assistant. You probably don't remember him, but he's got eyes like yours. His name was Daniel Feiersinger, and people were already starting to whisper that he'd be an Edelstein in a few years. He had a Politian for a mother and an anti-government war mechanic for a father, and the two never seemed to agree on anything. Everyone thought his parents were going to get a divorce. _

_I overheard you talking about him, saying you and Roderich should've taken him under your wings. Make him like a child to you, as to soften the blow of his parent's inevitable divorce. But I wasn't going to let that happen; you weren't going to win a second time. I wanted the boy to have some sort parental figure, but because you wanted that parental figure to be you, I wanted that parental figure to be me. _

I didn't want to read anymore.

I never knew that everyone thought that my parents were going to get divorced. I think they almost did, when I was nine, but they couldn't. Both of my parents are strong Catholics, and in their religion, divorce is a big no-no. The day that I found out that religion was one of the only things keeping my parents together was not a happy day for me.

This letter was basically saying that Gil didn't like me for my personality. He didn't want to spend time with me because I was a 'great kid' or whatever. He just felt sorry for me because my parents wanted to end their marriage.

_I guess it was when I started to fade away that I realized that I'd gone too far. I'd stolen your husband, ruined your marriage, and took away your potential child. I knew how much you wanted to be a mother again, and I took that chance away from you. I was cruel. I was horrible. And most of all, I'm sorry. _

_When I'm gone, I don't want Roderich to be alone. He does love you, Elizaveta. As much as I hate to admit it, he wouldn't have married you twice if he didn't. If you love him the way I did, please don't leave him alone. _

_As for the boy . . . I'm sorry for this, but please leave him alone. Don't try to be a second mother too him. That's an opportunity that I ruined too badly for you. If this chain of events continues, Roderich will remember everything soon. And after his letter, I don't think he'll even want to look at Daniel. That boy is just a remainder of what could've been. _

I suppose that's what's expected. Why would he care about me, anyways? In a few years, I'll be gone. When I'm gone, the poor child who'll be the personal assistant after me is just going to be a reminder of what I could've been. Even now, I'm just a reminder of what the boy before me could've been. That's all us personal assistants are, anyways: hopeless children who remind countries of humans that they used to know. I was just another step in an endless cycle of 'could've been's.

I'd accepted that a long time ago. I didn't know why it hurt so much now.

_You win. _

_And that's why I hate you. _

_But let's go back to a long time ago. In the year 1,000 AD, everyone thought the world was going to end. Roderich was terrified, but you and I were ecstatic. I think that's the first time we ever truly got along, Liza. We planned everything. The three of us dressed in the colors of our flags, wielding weapons at the setting sun, just waiting for the apocalypse to arrive. _

_Let me tell you, when it didn't, we were terribly disappointed. With yells of "oh, come _on_!" and throwing our weapons on the ground, we agreed that this was the worst apocalypse ever and wanted to go home. _

_But Roderich just smiled, and then pointed up at the stars. "Hey guys, look! How pretty!" he sat down, and then pointed to the sky. "See, there's Lynx, Lyra, Virgo, Draco, and Leo Minor . . ." _

_Then, just for a second, we both looked up at the stars and admired them for a moment. For that time being there wasn't any competitions or races or games of 'who's-better-at-what.' We just acted like friends, the three of us, as true children who didn't have to worry about country problems. That moment lasted all night. _

_You may be wondering why I brought back such a useless memory, but it's important to me. Whenever I got mad at you, I remembered back to that night. To that field in Austria, looking at the stars and acting like kids. You got married in that field. You didn't forget either, and I knew that choice was to make me feel better about the marriage, not to mock me. It was to let me know that I was still a member of the group, and even if two of the three had gotten married, I wasn't to be forgotten. And it did make me feel a little better. _

Roderich told me about that moment, but Gilbert had gotten more into detail with it. And Roderich didn't mention getting married on that same field. Their choice of marriage location seemed a bit cruel to me, but maybe that was just an outsider's view.

_But let's get back to the present. _

_A little over a month ago, I figured something out. By the way my age seemed to catch up with me, how everyone's forgetting who I am, and by the way my country is getting vended out to other countries. I figured out that I'm dying. _

_And I don't want to die. _

The words after that were smeared and a bit hard to read. It could've been water, but it looked too be only in certain areas. Though he very well could've been sprinkling water on the letter, it looked like he was crying.

_I don't want to die. _

_I don't want to die. _

_I don't want to die. _

_I want to hug my brother. I want to draw pictures. I want to take pictures. I want to make friends. I want to get married. I want to see other continents. I want to sing. I want to go to parties. I want to see the snow on a December morning. I want to pet dogs and feel them lick my face. I want to feel snowflakes fall on my tongue. I want to drink hot chocolate. I want to laugh. I want to see my country progress. I want to watch cartoons. I want to go on adventures. I want to learn from my mistakes. I want to kiss someone. I want to be a father. I want to love someone and know that they love me back. I want to live. _

_I don't want to die. _

_But I don't suppose I have a choice. _

Some part of me was smug about this. He had some kind of idea of what it was like to be human; that uncanny desperation to live even though you knew that you had no choice. But that part of me was that childishly cruel part me. The other part of me, the majority of me, felt broken and broken hearted.

_Once I figured that out, I cried like a baby. I managed to pull myself together long enough to write you and Roderich a note, but I only got around sending it to Roderich. No signature, but in big bold letters I wrote 'I'm going to die.' The truth hurts._

_Life seemed kind of repetitive to me. Is this what life feels like to humans? With your days just coming and going, keeping you distracted until you die? I felt hopeless and scared. Was I going to die today? Tomorrow? Next week? Next month? Would it even be on my own terms? Maybe I'd get hit by a car, and that would end my days. I've always thought humans were weak and cowardly, but now I think that they're the bravest creatures to live on this planet. They live in the shadow of death every day, and have the strength to smile and laugh through it all. They've manages to do for thousands of years straight what I couldn't figure out how to do in three days. Even their most cowardly are braver than us countries. _

I never thought of humanity being brave. I'm scared of death. I always have been, and I know for a fact that all humans are at least a little bit scared of death. But I don't let it get to me. I laugh, I joke, I smile; but the thought of death has always been in the back of my mind. I guess that does make all humans brave.

_I don't know what I wanted. Maybe some fresh air? I don't know. But it was a chain of events that caused me to lose it. First I walked past a graveyard. Isn't it sad how graveyards are so empty? They're gone, and no one cares. And a lot of those tombstones are weathered away to a point where you can't even read whose buried there. Gone and forgotten; it's inevitable. _

_Second thing was a family. Walking down the sidewalk across from me was a couple with their little girl, holding her hand and laughing. The way they looked at each other was as if they were years younger. Married and hopelessly in love with a child to show it. _

_Seeing them made me wonder if I'd really done anything in my life. My first sign of family was Ludwig and the other Germanics. But they all have someone else. Then there was Roderich and Daniel, but Roderich was forgetting me more and more every day. And Daniel . . . my poor boy was getting older. He was dying; just like me. Every second he gets closer and closer to that weathered gravestone, to being forgotten. _

_And to be honest, I'm actually grateful to get to leave this planet before he does. I used to think that my biggest fear was watching him get older. To hear how people's questions change. From "is that your son?" to "is that your brother?" to "is that your father" and inevitably eventually to "is that your grandfather?" I feared for the day I'd have to attend his funeral, and graciously now I never have to. _

_But that comes with a price, I suppose. I won't be there when he graduates high school or when he goes on his very first date. I won't be there when he has his first kiss. I won't be there when he gets married. I won't be there for his first heartbreak. There's so much that I'm never going to see. _

_It makes me feel like my whole life was just a waste of time. I never got married. I'm a failure at being the closest thing to a father that I've ever came to being. My brother has found a better family. The three prime members of the Axis are stuck like glue, there for each other whenever the other two might need it. They're like a more modern version of the three of us, aren't they? In any case, no one needs me anymore. _

_With those thoughts bunched up in my head, I ran. I ran and I ran and I kept running until I didn't know where I was anymore. That's when I broke. Tears began rushing down my face, sobs escaping my throat and I couldn't even control them. I wanted to die already. I wanted to get all of this over with. Anything, even death, was better than this in-the-middle feeling of knowing your dying but being forced to live. _

_That's when you showed up. _

_You looked at me, and I wanted to, but I couldn't stop crying. I expected you to gloat. To tease me. To remind me of all the times you won and make this another win for you. _

_But instead, you got down to your knees and hugged me. I hugged you back, sobbing into your shoulder and surrendering for the first and final time. I didn't want to fight anymore. I didn't want to compete anymore. I wanted you to be my friend again, and you obliged. _

_You never asked me what was wrong. I think you simply assumed that I didn't want to talk about it, and that it must've been bad. You patted down my hair; you hushed me and told me it was going to be ok. Except I knew it wasn't going to be ok, and you knew that too. But it did make me feel better to know that you cared. _

_I don't know how long I just hugged you. How long you comforted me. How long you reminded me the perks of being alive. But it was long enough. _

_I'm done fighting you, Elizaveta. This isn't a ceasefire; it's surrender. You're my friend. You were there for me when I needed someone, and you're the last person I thought would be there. _

_For that reason, I love you. _

For most of the letter, it seemed Elizaveta didn't have much of an effect on his life. But the last bit made me realize she was one of the people who affected his life the most. His letter was a confession to her. Gil told her all of his life's secrets because he trusted her the most, like a pair of best friends at a sleepover. The whole thing was a letter inside a letter, a way of saying _I trust you_ and _this is what you mean to me_ at the same time.

_It's been nearly a thousand years, but the battle is over. You were my friend, Liza, in fact, you were my best friend. And best friends fight; maybe not as often and as psychotically as we did, but they fight. And though it's not the same way that I loved Roderich, but I did love you. _

_Be good to him, Elizaveta. There isn't anyone else I'd rather him be with. _

_Goodbye, _

_Gilbert_

I folded up the letter, and then put it back in its envelope. I tried to put the seal back together, but the wax had already hardened. I figured I could put candle wax or something on it, but my mind wasn't on the envelope.

He was trying to be a father to me. But not because I was such a great child, he did it because it's what Elizaveta wanted to do. He did it because he wanted to take that away from her. I was nothing but a product of hatred and a competition between 'friends.' Knowing that was similar to finding out that you were an accident.

I stuck the envelope back in my pocket, and then walked back to Elizaveta's house. I put the wax seal back together the best I could, forcing it to stick together and then putting it in her mailbox. She'd probably just think that it broke easily from age or something.

"Hey, you!"

I turned, and Elizaveta walked out onto her lawn. Looking at her, I noticed that she did sort of look like me. But it wasn't striking or anything, nothing too noticeable. We had different skin colors (by which I mean her skin was about half a shade tanner than mine or Roderich's), different hair colors, different facial structures, and overall we seemed to wear our skin differently. But our only similarity was so mind-boggling it seemed to make us look similar.

People weren't kidding when they said I had her eyes. Mirrors have told me what my eyes look like for years, and they were hers. My eyes and her eyes were exact same shade of green, the exact same shape, placed on the exact same spot on our faces. It was kind of funny to have the same eyes as a girl, but I now knew why everyone said that I had her eyes.

"Aren't you Rod—I mean, Austria's personal assistant?" she asked.

I nodded. Looking at her was enough to make me wonder. If things had gone differently, she would have been like a second mother to me. I wouldn't have to go on this chase to find Gil's letter. I wouldn't have this weird feeling of sadness in the back of my mind. I wouldn't be another 'could've been.'

"What're you doing in Budapest?" Elizaveta smiled at me. "Do you want to come in for a drink?"

"With all due respect, ma'am," I looked down. "I should probably be getting home. Mr. Austria probably needs me by now"

"Nonsense!" Elizaveta exclaimed. "I'm sure he can wait—"

"Check your mail," I said a little too suddenly, interrupting her sentence.

Elizaveta looked at me funny, but obliged. She took the one letter out of her mailbox, studying it. "Why's the seal broken?"

I didn't answer.

"Did you read this?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Why?"

I remained silent.

"Is it from you?"

I shook my head.

"Who's it from?"

I didn't speak.

"Daniel, who is this letter from?"

No response.

"Why aren't you answering me?"

I stayed silent.

Elizaveta looked at the letter once again, and then sighed. "At least you're being honest. But why won't you tell me who wrote me this?"

For a moment, I stayed silent. But then I looked up and said. "You'll find out when you read it, ma'am"

I didn't wait for her response. I simply turned, and then walked over to the train station. Elizaveta didn't stop me.

* * *

I think Roderich saw how sad I was when I got home. He asked me if I delivered the letter, and I said 'yes, sir.' He asked me if I felt alright, and I said 'yes, sir.' He then asked me if the sky was purple, and I said 'yes, sir.'

My life was beginning to feel like a haze. That letter gave me a new lease on myself. I wasn't anything he said I was in my letter; he was only saying that to be nice. Just so he could turn around and say I was just leftover from something that could've been.

"Daniel, answer me!" Roderich snapped.

"Yes, sir," I grumbled.

Roderich glared at me. "What happened at Budapest? Why aren't you acting like yourself?"

I looked up at him. "Sir, maybe you shouldn't look for your letter"

"What made you think that?" Roderich scoffed. "We're going to find that thing if it's the last thing I do"

"Maybe that letter will tell you stuff you're better off not knowing," I said. "Ever thought of that?"

Roderich was silent for a moment, and then shook his head. "Daniel, these kinds of things are always worth knowing"

Despite what I've been saying after all this time, I begged to differ.

* * *

_**See you next Wednesday.**_

_**In Shades of Blue,**_

_**Ninja **_

_***BAGPIPES EXIT!***_


	17. Chapter 17

_**~ * ~ * Chapter Seventeen ~ * ~ ***_

_I was ten years old, playing in the snow. I fell onto my back, making a snow angel. I stopped for a moment, looking up at the sky and opening my mouth, allowing snowflakes to fall onto my tongue. The cold was creeping from the tip of my nose and to my cheeks, and it felt surprisingly good. _

_I sat up, looking around. My face broke out into a smile when I saw Gil and Roderich. They were probably watching me play; now standing close enough to each other that their noses were practically touching. _

"_Gil!" I called. "Gil, Gil—!"_

_I stopped myself, my hand lowering and falling to my side. There was some other voice speaking to me, in the back of my mind. I mean, the voice sounded like me, but it much older. This voice lacked the innocence of a child, lacked my current happiness. _

He doesn't love you. He doesn't care about you. He never did.

_I didn't know why I was thinking these kinds of things. They weren't true. They couldn't be true. I ran over to Gil and Roderich, who were still talking. They didn't notice me, yet, as they continued to talk. _

"_But when you're gone—" Roderich started. _

"_There's a chance they could fix it, don't worry," Gil reassured him, his voice hushed. They didn't want me hearing this. "I've got a chance"_

A chance_? I thought. _A chance at what? A game?

A chance at life, you idiot; he's going to die. And when he's dead, Roderich's going to forget about you. Let that show how much they love you.

_Tears were beginning to well up in my eyes. Why were they saying this? They were being mean, and I didn't like it one bit. _Stop it, _I thought. _

You know it's the truth. Just run before they hurt you again.

"_G-Gil . . .?" I whimpered._

_Gilbert turned. His eyes widened, and he got down to his knees and put his hands on my shoulders. "Danny, what's wrong? Why're you crying?"_

He doesn't care. He doesn't love you.

"_S-stop it . . ." I whispered, wiping my eyes with my mittens. _

"_Stop what? Are you ok?" Gil wiped my eyes. "Are you cold?"_

Run. Get out of here. He doesn't care about you. He's dying, anyway. But maybe that's for the better.

"_S-s-stop i-it . . ." I was crying harder now. I was cold and confused and someone was telling me that my parents—my second parents or whatever—didn't love me. I didn't want to believe it, but some part of my mind was making me. And I don't think I've ever been sadder. _

"_Stop what?" Gil gave me a hug, patting down my hair. "I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong"_

You're just something that could've been. You're a failed project. Something that needs to be thrown away. Just run. Leave them alone. Let Gil be with someone he actually cares about. You're just bothering him.

"_Stop it!" I screamed, and I shoved Gil off of me and ran as fast as I could. I ran through the snow, while Gil called my name and told me to stop. It seemed like I wasn't a child anymore, as if I'd matured in a span of five minutes. _

"_Danny! Danny, come back here!" Gil called, but I didn't stop. I ran and ran, and continued running. I ran until I couldn't hear his voice anymore, until I felt exhausted. _

_I don't even know what I tripped on, but I fell face-first into the snow. I didn't get up, I just lay there. My tears were iced to my face, my breath frozen and returning back to my face. I rested my face between my arms, curled up in the snow. I was done; I felt like just giving up. _

_There was the sound of snow crunching under someone's feet, and it stopped. I didn't look up, but whoever walked up to me wasn't moving. _

"_Daniel," it was Gil's voice, but I knew it couldn't be him. I'd ran away from him. The only memories I'd had of him was of things he'd already said to me. "You have to pay attention to these kinds of things. It's important information"_

"_Leave me alone," I muttered. _

"_Not wanting to remember things doesn't mean they didn't happen," Gil continued, and I felt him run a hand through my hair. "You're a big boy now. You can't just run away from your problems—"_

"_Isn't that what you did?" I snapped, all while not looking up. Gil didn't answer for the longest time. _

"_I know it hurts," Gil continued after his long pause. "But these things are important. They'll help you in the future."_

"_I don't care," I grunted. "I don't want to know any of this."_

"_And why is that?" Gil asked. _

"_Because you don't care about me," I snapped. "You never did, so stop acting like you do!"_

_There was a silence, and with a voice that sounded broken, Gil said. "That's not true. Daniel, I love you very much—"_

"_Then stop ruining my life!" I exclaimed, shouting into the snow while refusing to look up. "You made Roderich hate me! You wrote those stupid letters! You make me have these damn dreams every night!" at that moment, I stopped shouting, and my voice came out more as a whimper. "I hate you" _

_There was a pause, and I could hear footsteps again. "If that's how you feel" his voice was distant and sad. "So be it"_

_I looked up._

* * *

I awoke when my alarm blared, sending me jerking awake in a fit of arms and legs. I turned the alarm clock off, running a hand through my hair. It was already messy, and though that seemed like something normal, it bothered me. In my dream, Gil had ruffled my hair.

I got dressed lazily, and when I exited my room, Annika slammed her entire body into my side. She started screaming apologies, but I simply shook my head in her direction and said it was ok. She looked at me funny.

"If that had happened any other Saturday morning, you would've chased me around the house," my little sister said, grabbing onto my jacket and looking at me with pleading eyes. "C'mon Danny—chase me!"

"I'm not in the mood, Ann," I said, walking down the stairs. I poured myself a bowl of cereal, and Luka tugged on my shirt.

"Are you sad?" he asked.

"No," I answered.

"You seem sad,"

"I'm not,"

"Do you need some cheering up?"

"No,"

"Do you want to go outside and play ball with me?"

"I'm not in the mood, Luka,"

My mother hushed Luka away, who looked disappointed by my decline to play with him. Mom sat across from me, looking at me with a concerned look on her face. "_Liebling_, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I sighed, and I played around with my cereal a bit. I looked up, biting my lower lip. "Mom, can I ask you something?"

"Anything," she said.

I took in a breath. "If someone said you were just a—a 'could've been,' what would you do?"

She gave me an odd look. "I don't really get what you're asking me, _Schätzchen_"

"Like if you're just around because of something that didn't work out," I explained.

"Why does it matter?" she asked.

"My friend—his parents just got divorced," I said, coming up with the first lie that came to mind. "I've been trying to think of a way to cheer him up, but he won't listen. He thinks that he's just left over from his parent's marriage, like a reminder"

"Poor thing," my mother shrugged. "He shouldn't blame himself. If his parents are treating him like a _hätte haben_ it's their fault."

"Do you think . . . he should leave his parents alone for a bit?" I asked. "He says he makes them sadder. Do you think he should just . . . you know . . . leave them alone?"

My mother paused, and then shrugged. "I don't know, Daniel. I've never heard of anyone ever being in this sort of situation"

I nodded, finishing my cereal and kissing my mother on the cheek. "I'm going to school, mom. _Ich liebe dich, auf Wiedersehen_"

School went by normally, a normal day learning normal things with a normal amount of homework. I came home, got my homework done, and then went to work.

Work that day went like it would've months ago, before all of this ever happened. I cleaned the house, made Roderich his tea (it was sunny today, so it was Chai tea with two spoons of sugar), and organized his files. When my shift ended, there weren't any surprise trips to other countries or found letters. It was like any other day.

"I'm going home," I called, grabbing my jacket. "I'll see you tomorrow, sir,"

"Wait," Roderich sat up from his piano, the keys making an off-key and horrid sound as he slammed his fingers on them. He walked over to me, putting his palm to my forehead and telling me to exhale. He took a step back. "Funny. You feel fine,"

"I'm not sick, sir," I mumbled.

"But you're acting sick," Roderich said, looking at me with concerned eyes. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," I said, turning and walking out of the building.

I couldn't remember the last time my life was so simple and average. I ate dinner with my family, took a shower, and brushed my teeth. By nine thirty, I was in bed, and by nine thirty-five, I was fast asleep.

I dreamt I was in an empty space in time, nothing happening. I shouted, I screamed Gil's name over and over again. But nothing happened. Nothing at all.

By the next morning, I felt worse. I felt like I was sick, but not _sick_. To elaborate, I didn't feel physically sick, but I still felt like I was going to throw up. I didn't want to bother anyone, so I simply got dressed and went to school.

When I got home, both my parents were working, and a note on the counter said that Annika and Luka went off to play with some of their friends. It seemed like my family to take off without telling me in person.

I figured going outside was better than just sitting at home alone, and I walked out towards the center of the city. The museum just opened, so I figured I'd give it a look.

Unfortunately, the place was packed. School groups from all around had come here to see what all the fuss was about. I could see why—the place was huge, with an exhibit for every country in the world. I bought a ticker, and out of curiosity, asked if there was an exhibit on Prussia.

I don't know how long I sat in front of that exhibit, looking at their flag to their soldier's outfits, to the cloaks with the cross on them. Their colors were black and white—just like my dreams. Their flag looked familiar, oddly, and I realized that in my dreams, younger me had a bandanna with that flag on it. By the look on my face, I wore that thing with pride. Now it was gone, just like Prussia.

"_Ici, nous avons l'exposition de Prusse, un pays qui est tombé un peu plus de cinq ans."_

I rolled my eyes. _Tourists_, I thought with annoyance. Just like any other native of Vienna, I found anyone from any other country other than my own to be annoying beyond all comprehension.

"_Excusez-moi_," one teenager raised his hand, and his voice sounded strangely familiar. "_Avez-Prusse jamais obtenir une personnification_?"

My eyes widened, and I looked at the tourist group and their confused tour guide. The boy who asked the question was rather tall, a bit on the thin side, with blonde hair swept across his forehead and piercing blue eyes.

When the group continued, I grabbed the boy's wrist. ". . . Antoine?"

He turned to me. "Daniel?"

This wasn't like the last time I met him; I didn't smile, I didn't ask him how he was, I didn't do any of the mistakes I made last time. I gave him this look of total desperation, and said. "Can I talk to you?"

Antoine scoffed. "No"

I looked around, tightened my grip on his wrist, and ran. He let out a shout of terror, but I kept running. I dragged him out of the museum, down the street, and over to someplace private. He fought the entire way, but in all honesty, he wasn't very strong.

When I loosened my grip, he jerked his hand away. "What the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

"I said I needed to talk to you," I muttered.

"So you kidnapped me?!" he snapped.

"You didn't listen,"

"_So_?!"

"Please just listen,"

Antoine huffed. "Can't you talk to your boyfriend about this? Have you accepted his job offer yet?"

My fists clenched, and my voice came out like a whisper. "Stop it"

"Stop what? Telling you things you don't want to hear?" Antoine rolled his eyes. "Honestly, you never change,"

"Stop it," my voice came out louder, now.

"You're being a child," Antoine snapped. "What're you going to do, hit me again—?"

This time, I snapped. I looked up and shouted at the top of my lungs. "_Stop it, just stop it_!"

Antoine stared at me, and I felt my eyes. Tears were beginning to form in them, and I did the closest thing to a smile that I could muster. ". . . Would'ja look at that . . ."

My knees grew weak, and I fell to the ground. My bottom lip quivered, and I grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled. Sobs etched in my throat, but I tried to keep them in. I didn't want to cry, not in front of him. But I couldn't help it.

I don't know what I expected. Maybe I expected for him to mock me, to laugh, to taunt me. If anything, I expected him to walk away. However, Antoine got down on his knees, and pulled me into a hug.

That's when I broke. I sobbed into his shoulder, as he patted down my hair and hushed me, repeating that everything was going to be ok. "Shh, shh, it's alright, it's alright. Don't cry. Don't cry."

He wiped my eyes, and then gave me a sympathetic look. "What's wrong, Daniel?"

"I—it's—it's Gil," my voice sounded choked and sick, and my nose was getting stuffy. "He—he won't leave me alone! N-not when—when he—when he was a-alive, not when he—when he's dead—n-not e-even in m-my dreams—" I sobbed. "I j-just wish that b-bastard would s-stop r-ruining my life!"

Antoine looked at me with surprised eyes. "Daniel, what in the world happened to make you think that he ruined your life?"

At that moment, I told him everything from the contents of my letter to the contents of Elizaveta's. And by the time I was done, I wasn't crying, but my eyes were still red and puffy.

"Do you think maybe he gave you a reason to live?" Antoine offered me a smile, tucking a piece of my hair behind my ears. "Daniel, he took you in and treated you like a child. He showed you things and places people go their whole lives wanting to see"

"It wasn't worth it," I scoffed.

"Wasn't worth it?" Antoine said. "Daniel, he gave you a childhood,"

When I was silent, Antoine continued. "He didn't plan on dying, you know. If he had the choice, I'm sure he'd be here today. You can't blame him for something that's out of control,"

I didn't speak.

"What if you died tomorrow? It'd be insensitive for me to get mad at you for leaving me. The same thing goes for Gilbert." Antoine said, and I looked down, biting my bottom lip and squeezing my eyes shut. "From what I heard, he loved you. It's clear to me, so why can't you accept that?"

Tears fell from my eyes again, and I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him. "_I'm sorry_!" I exclaimed, even my sobs coming out as chokes. "I'm so sorry . . . I should've had hit you, I—I'm stupid and selfish and I don't think I'm ever going to change, but I'm sorry . . ." I was hiccupping with tears now. "I don't want to fight anymore, Antoine . . . I just want you to be my friend again . . ."

I could understand what Gil meant in his letter. I was done fighting someone that I knew was my friend. No matter what I was fighting for, it wasn't worth losing him. This wasn't a ceasefire; it was surrender. The only thing I wanted to get my friend back.

"I'm sorry—!" I exclaimed for a final time, and Antoine leaned forward, cutting me off and kissing me on the mouth. I probably should've fought back, but I didn't. I leaned into the kiss for a bit, and he pulled away before I did. Maybe this is the point where I say he tasted like something, but in all honesty, what does someone even taste like? I did detect traces of cherry-flavored lip-gloss, to be honest.

"You're forgiven," he said, and then ran off. I just sat there, running my tongue over my lips. That was my first kiss. I'll be honest; I expected my first kiss to be with an Italian supermodel during a movie or in the park. Not with another guy behind a museum. But, either way, I wasn't mad.

I got up, allowed myself to calm down, and then walked home.

* * *

_My dream started off like it had been for a while: just darkness. I cupped my hands over my mouth, and screamed. "I love you, Gilbert Beilschmidt!"_

_My hands fell to my side, and I caught my breath. At that moment, I felt someone tap my shoulder. I turned, and my face broke out into a smile. _

_Gilbert's smile reflected my own. "You don't have to shout,"_

* * *

_**I suppose this counts as a filler chapter. **_

_**I figure we're far enough into this story for me to ask you this: what do you guys honestly think of Daniel? As a character, I mean. I'd love to know, and if you'd tell me, that'd be awesome.**_

_**Translations:**_

_**Liebling and **__Schätzchen - German for things like "sweetheart" and "darling"_

_****__hätte haben - German for "could've been"_

_****__Ich liebe dich, auf Wiedersehen - German for "I love you, goodbye"_

_****____Ici, nous avons l'exposition de Prusse, un pays qui est tombé un peu plus de cinq ans. - French for "Here, you see the exhibit on Prussia, a country that fell a little over five years ago" _

_****______Excusez-moi, __Avez-Prusse jamais obtenir une personnification_? - French for "Excuse me, did Prussia get a personification?"

_**Keep in mind, I don't speak neither French nor German. I got all of this off of Google translate, so feel free to correct me on anything. **_

_**In Shades of Blue, **_

_**Ninja**_

_***BAGPIPES EXIT!***_


End file.
